The Future of America

Abduction Envy

...take me away to a shore of flat stale champagne water rushing to embrace clear sparkling silver sand dunes climaxing in a flurry of audible murmurs and gossiping giggles that wake the old men in their straw huts from their own vivid dreams of impossibly blue water and yellow sand...

...and the party people fly like they swim desperately for family picnic pics on a random level of some unannounced hanging gardens of wild untamed rainforests full of hunters hunting for their prey's bodies and prey praying for their hunters' souls...

...to a wide expanse of windy indigo blue plains that stretch so far to meet the challenge of a citrus orange sky with abundant clouds the shape of puffy lips descending to fumigate all fiscal thoughts of those who look up in contemplation...

...where the practical pigs administer their own eggs and the handy horses their own milk so the farmboy can lay on that silky indigo grass and nonchalantly chew on a stalk of tasteless wheat while tucking his sweetheart's hair behind her tickled ears...

...to a mountain forest maternity ward of fertile ferns that somewhere coo nighttime lullabies to babies in their nests and elsewhere shed their golden yellow leaves onto the velvet violet earth below as offering to bury pasts both remembered and forgotten accordingly...

...and where whole bustling metropolises cease and desist in order to visit the sick old lady on her creaky deathbed and each recite a chapter of her lifelong achievements such as raising dogs who can roll over and tending a garden of treehouses sprawled with off-white misspelled exclamations...

...to where a tired dying crimson red supergiant appreciates every single precious moment it has left before it takes down millions of lives along with it and sets each day to rest for some three or so jade green followers that illuminate those ignorant and remind those who forget by choice...

...during a golden age of not nothing, nor everything, but just something, anything...

confused intake manifold

take! take! and shut the damn door....you're letting all the hot air out.....and it's cold outside....it's cold and cobalt bold from heavy breathing....heavy lifting....heavy hearts and heads.....quit. just stop and stand and twist that band around one more time...let it get tight around your wrist and let the names add up right down your list...but don't tell me what you have to get, just get it...and bring it back...share it and I'll pass the plates....we'll sit and talk....discuss our fates....do you see the scratches and the scribble scroll scribes? they sit in anticipation......of someone, something else.....emancipation....proclomation? trick-turn whore....is a sloppy snore bore......what we want is something more.....do you understand that your hand on my heart is my hand......or is your head too deep in the sand?.......ahh the chains of command....and the blind man begging while the woman wails away....this is what I wish they'd say....tomorrow, yesterday, today.......dismay.

The Spider

I intend to inspire the intellectual spire to expand,
Like the web being splayed by the spider,
As daily I was the innocent spirit that soared freely
in my solace scented sky,
The scent of roses and rain,
that scavenges for sovereignty.

But recently, dishonesty was the rope that bound my feet to the ground
And once I cut him in half,
I was free
And I heard a voice
and his voice alone was poetry.

I was the solitarty teacher in search for my independence
when out of a slip of destiny, or perhaps of chance,
My life scenario switched to possibility,
Like the sanguine sower spreading the sumptuous seeds,
that stimulate the bare earth,
he plans to simulate during a passion season: spring;
Like a smiling and sacred situation made of silk and silver.

But, how she hesitates to shed her armor about her trust,
So she'll hold it tighter about herself as she standsC
stiff and still,
observing the movements of uncertainty.

Scavenger, now turned to skeptic,
wants to be secure, and only slighty knows that skill.
But she knows for certain that trust will only come
slowly.
And if love is speech, she is stuttering---
Her hesitance from a bitter taste in the past.

Consistantly, trust became possiblity
and the heart grew redder
and the sour spice diminished from my tongue.

His voice alone is poetry
and inspires the webs to expand
So that the sceptic is now saved.

But now the voice, too, has faded
and the heart pales once again
because the trustworthy possibility was
incompatible with the over inspired spider
who built her learned web too wide
and his voice whose was poetry alone,
had weaved a web too small.

And, so, again, she set her feet free
in search for sovereignty.

(And in the end,
I see shadows of roses
that kiss my fingertips
on the white wall.)

Hip Hop Violin - Watch more free videos

Postmaster Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

The new Pumpkins is out, let's go grab it before--
Don't keep avoiding this, got no more tears in store
They got Jimmy back on drums, so it should really--
No more futile returns to the touchy feely--
Sing me that one verse from "Perfect," how does it go--
Don't stand any closer to me than toe-to-toe--
"Aaangel, you know it's nooot the eeend. We'll always be--
Feeling your nestled neck next to mine would make me--

So I thought more about our plans for when--
Can't keep doing this again and again--
With my technical and exteriors--
What grains of time we have fall through, it blurs--
And your decor design interiors--
So sorry to kill you with these murmurs--
There couldn't be a better match made in--
They don't like you, so it's gotta fade in--

It'll be great, just like how we--
The choice of freedom comes to me--
I'm so happy right now I could--
But the stench of creeping fear would--
Nibble on those luscious lips of--
No easy way to turn you off--
Just want you to know how much I--
Bye--

Going Once, Going Twice

Sunday

mourning sun,
light my day.
break the glass and stay five minutes more in my way.