excuse

And it seems I’ve wiped the jelly from the complex of my eyes
To discover darker colors, from the fair in your disguise

You are a crooked killer, feeding from children, feeding from children
You are sick inside the sinner, feeding from children, feeding from children

And did you know this could be true, there could be something wrong in you
And did I know it to be right, to sit and revel in lost fights

Where iron weights on dogs bring sight, and egos spring as free as kites.

My apologies for such light,
But I believe my eyes, are right.

In All

To each his own, his own in All…
For the friends, and the lovers
And the ones who do fall.

For the crooks, and the cynics
And the ones who do play
For the chiefs, and the hands
And the ones who’ve turned grey.

For the ones in the dark,
And the ones with great eyes
For the peasants, and the riches
And the ones who will lie.

For the priests, and the vessels
Even the ones who will crawl…

There can be treasures to each...
There can be crystals in All.

a reason to believe

Two brides tangle
Colliding in faith hands, descending as one
They are born in new genesis, and in this claim,
Unbridled dependencies upon an air founded giant

Lost in the whispers, the onlookers decided,
In a whole, for the one.
In the collective face; a wave amongst the magnitude
Coasting in some strides to voices void from just ones own

Eyes towards a man, neglecting truth amongst one self
Evangelical divine, looks towards clouds, from ones own health

The Sun rises and is new in each to every day
Till this decree of new beginnings is swept
It’s time for Mind’s to come of age

Mind’s to decide…
Mind’s to crash raptures none at idols but at own personal platitudes
Mind’s to bestow showings of the energy and choice in his state of self

Giving only of his nature…
Gratefulness to the Moon for keeping him to feel
Gestures towards a Sun keeping him to leap and when to real
And thank-fulls towards a planet, and two parents, who give him skin
And a life, far from the masses, but rather buried deep within

Instincts, nature’s savior, through emotes and lawful seas
Born from wisdom in ones hands
To be true – is to believe.

what is the seeing this

Three crows dance from my window…I bet it’s harsh out there.

In purple light, the haze in me,

I am cold without the company.

Free, Inside

The sounds, you make, my favorite…
My ears, peel off, to savor it…

Echoes, echoes, out on your drums,
Bashing in hearts, lining torsos with guns

The suits, in banging, flashy tooths
We’ll creep, those crypt,
Back away, with their truths

Back away to their coops,
Back away, wayward sleuths!


…And they do not believe in us

Our design of foreign nature
Our class, of waste and paper

We are useless in this cause?

Well, you,
Dead by impact –

And in that, no applause

Lay no attention, to the fact,
That your ribs are numb in bed
While your manners, all remembered
While your growl, all pretend.

No more pretensions, you are lost,
Leaving only other’s voice,

So please leave us to our magic,
We’re all free, inside a choice.

the buildings are concrete

Here we are, here we are, here we are building our mansions
Too afraid when hands start clampin’
Round the necks of fools in kids, who couldn’t help but fool around…

Too afraid to play so we’ll lock up in stone,
Ride the whip, crack your back, so nothing else looks alone

No individual of matter, is what you keep to be
Regurgitate your platter, you're now a part and not a he.

With the likes of the liking

Your skin is flawless. Let me prove to myself that you actually do in fact exist. And not such figments of human perfection that only I could’ve thought upon and have found myself to tend to each and any day...

Your hips... I’ll play rhythms amongst your thigh, and you can sing the melody. We can make music together…We can find the hook.

Can we walk into each other every once in awhile? Can we jump high cliffs with hands in bed together? Can we spark the eye, inside the Mind, when the pleasures are outside, together?

It’s not even, just my desire, but I say a proof in Nature’s say. I believe the star’s have mapped our paths together and we’d be sick to choose away. Is it just my eyes that see, what fortunes can be had? If the likes in you…with the man in me, came to meet upon new plans.

My Thought On Mind

And so this, I claim. That our minds be likened to the depths and reaches of Space. Never – can we be lost on one such planet, when vasts amounts of new and venture can be had. Stars and Planets mark our intellect and memories. Shooting stars and explosions, new ideas.

Where vasts amount of lot is available for the buy and building. Never, I say, will there be a time where the Mind reaches a fence of limit. Where a set number can be extrapolated to pass label on the capacity for new knowledges. Whether taken from the experiences of the sensory cortex, or from intrinsic rationalities, the Mind can always be added upon.

If reduced due to outside physical abrasion, or thought upon as weak from genetic imprints, I attest that the Mind has not lost its vastness of Space, or haven’t the Space at all, but rather its core planetary systems have either been destroyed or not yet been explored and found. Tests of intelligence prove not of an intellect, but rather of space taken up as of then.

The Mind, still, and always, will be ripe for new intergalactic voyaging…
In other words, there is absolutely, (like that of Space) no known limit for the human thought.

when they nay say the free

Diagnose my undoings, you are lost in your cause. You hold specs of yourself yet you still dig with your claws. Ripping seams of the seamless where your fingers don’t fit. Away – with your logic – you haven’t a grip.

One of those

I am lost in this will. I have lost your cool wells. Where now the waters will run through, and out face, to commemorate your curvatures, to drown in white lace. We are raceless commodities, we are boundless fortunes. We are inked in our imperfections and this unity we hold makes at one.

I can still taste, see, hear, you. It’s unfortunate sometimes, this memory of mine. Holds little of numerical value yet spans in images of never ceasing loop stations.

Unfortunate, my vast for the first person past. Like lobsters to the cage I am sea bound and tangled. I sit here, little doings with logic, wondering in places serving me no intrinsic value or commerce. It is surprising that even in that now – I am still bound to your body.

When the Sun Went Out

And what happens when they put out the Sun? Cosmic misfortunes, raining black on everyone. Will you see the truth? Will you recognize yourself? Will you look to the sky for a Man with your heart? Recognize. You lived life, to please which was far from your part.

And so a vacuum you become when you go to please away. And leave the grapes of crescent Moons to bask in all which while you play – symphonies for others while you bend to become Mothers. You are tasteless in your patterns, you are keen to become others.

And so who are you? Who are you when the Sun goes out and the dark is all we see? We lay gasping for last breaths as colds remind us why we’d seen. The colors of cool matter which are all, in all, we feel – And become voices, among people, and not just footprints prior reeled...

When the blacks of Moons are all we see, and we swim in dead of night, I hope they’ll recognize my voice, for I’d have tried with all my might. To step from line, and once use light, to burn in all that’s right in me. With no more Sun, and sight of eyes, only true …will breathe easy.

We, the Dream State

We, the alive dream state. Acting out already existent consciousnesses. Drones in step, matching whims to the populous… Antennas, for eyes, we’re ants…we’re safe.

We know the steps, and so we step them. Easy trails; your knees won’t cramp when you use them for your means. Someone has already plowed for you, so go ahead and eat at yourself. All energy you will use now lies in your ability to memorize key phrases and numbers. All energy you will savor and keep will be kept within the feathers in your sheets. Your comfort is in angles. Your head in Nostalgia, when you build wombs around yourself.

But -– If disruption occur, then we’re growing! Bat off the flame we’re growing! Everyone knows that the growth in our selves, equals change. And change is the inconsistent blood thunder – it is the organic reap.

And in this change we’re confused. …

– So what now, we ask. What now with these feathers, whom do not protect from rain? What now of these numbers, who’ve drove us now insane? What now of our travels, when the paths are now dug in? …. I guess we’ll have to wake up, instead of simply dreaming in.