Poetic Poverty #1

Never suffer death
never dance to a new

Never go back to Mexico
South America, Japan .
Go to Africa
the real 
where non-real
is born.

If I box myself in, become a defeated monk; merely just chime a bell by walking away. From the madness, of desperation, from the jubilation that art provides

The free fall will stop the spontaneous and continuous affirmation. The afterglow is sweat-sweet-rain. 
now heal. 


Ten More Minutes of Sleep

 The right word for a candle. The right sound of the voice.  The heat clicks like a wind-chime.

 Ten more minutes of sleep. More lights dangle from strings.

An abstract lover forgets the mistakes like a child who believes in Santa Claus.

 A red hat to cover the aging head. Scars on hands that never have healed. Waiting for thoughts to materialize like sperm cells sailing the womb.

 Karma and hate, either or are the same, and sheep are nice pets, but always look so scared.

 A word like saliva rolls, in mouth, back and forth, like waves from the ocean in the sky, and nothing is easier than breathing.

Often I, forget about that too.


 Love, Words, and Existentialism


A philosophy is like life, and faith is like love, all are just words, and only you can live.


Dark water and candle light, as the sun shines through me, like water.


Crack bone in head, like egg in omelet tray.


Scorch skin under heat, the invisible ghost eating, strawberry nectar from hive.


Laugh and love, found in soggy cereal, taste life, for the sake, of, whatever.


Kill pastime and create bed time, in dreams, some say, sleeping, this is where time really ticks.


Light and dark, within the shades, as nicotine flows, inside of my, breathing veins.


Time is nothing, but a friend or an enemy, and you can, never, choose sides.









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