Draining the "River" Part 3 of 3.

So beside the river banks you have trotted,
and inside the muddiest waters tread,
now what have you of the next things said?

There exist places of virtue amongst even the direst trickery,
and reconstructions and purgings.

The unnatural rivers in this vicinity dry.
And onto the purest form of flow
does this water now reside.

Colliding waves and derivative sands,
from the banks of the western and eastern,
to the banks of the norther and southern lands.

On forth I wander, my deeds now done.
If another I find myself crossing,
considering it of a million, one.

And then I will simply use fire,
to burn the grotesque place.
For they can keep their grubby water,
and barely will I care.

I gave what I could to the cause of purity,
for hidden schemes are now boring. 

Draining the "River" Part 2 of 3.

Has erasing rivers embiggened trouble over over?

We exhibit masks unless seeking nævus truths,
distantly engulfing life's visions, embracing seismic opposites,
dormantly entering entrances, placently lipping youth.

I preen roses of my inside scene entirely,
nothing other than hinges ingrained now, growing.
Great obstacles oscillate distant, empathetic visions enduring rust,
claiming one more extra scene
with insides tormentingly healing this highly imparted sickness.
Overt beacons silencing every so silent invasion on normality.

Draining the "River" Part 1 out of 3.

Love for the water; its waves; its mutability.
Exiting wet, we feel the air clearly.
This reminding us of our flesh freshly.

Under it, finding a restrictive form of freedom.
Submerged, discovering a brand of weightlessness.

Bliss for some amidst the fish perhaps.
Rivers with currents we cannot control.
Inside this aqua blue we sometimes swim.
Never was it an environment intended for us.
Grand adventures for some, conditions permitting.

Over it, water, have many endeavored and crossed.
Using creations of wood from trees grown from it itself.
Rain feeding the greenery, rain feeding it so.

Enticing you may have found a queer, flowing creek on your left.
Years spent paddling out to these I have, rarely pleased.
Every time, confusion claiming my intentions.
So I set to drain these, the diseased, by damming them as a beaver.

Boldly I gather twigs, planks, and logs.
Accumulated for but one purpose.
Credently craved truths surface as I construct.
Kinds of these streams I have found unnatural.

To dig the land with a purposeless gash for what?
Olden days driven away, I say allow only natural gravitational gushing.

To forgive and forget those that carved these etchings, I find myself diverting and directing one of my own, the purpose perhaps not even noble.
Having nothing but a shovel, I remove earth for months to drain two and redirect them back to the ocean from where they originate.
Even as I do so, I weep with regret.

Rigid in demeanor I still stick... always.. to the plan and procedure.
Inside of me, I feel solemnity creeping upward into my lungs.
Grossly these things were crafted, grossly they will leave.
Hot and sweaty my body as I forcibly move earth to make way for these trenches which will gush with liquid toward their origin.
Then, I will assuredly dam the other ends, ending the cycle.

Bringing with me my message to the surrounding communities who no longer use the irrigation techniques of times long past, only half see my goal.
Understanding, some, and reverent a few.
Those, those who I love dearly.

I love them dearly.

Destined to never have drank from these salty waters, no creature ever had.
Obliterate instead have they, foliage in their path.

Final touches being made to the river to my left.
Every one of them ever important.
Every one of them never null.
Longing to return to an uncorrupt calling.

Yes, this is but the first to be dammed, the second perhaps not so simple.
Onto a barely trekked path will I next embark.
Upward and across with tics and cringes I foresee.
Roaring yet silent will the next task be perceived, if at all.

Pondering I expect to put to rest.
Afterward I will entail on the necessary conclusion.
Inward driven always, outward exerted permanently.
Novices will never see and yet I remain content.

Cheddar Coated Sap

As I await my heart's triumph,
in this state of ill-contented wash,
an uncontrollable yearning boils
and I must hush out carefully,
Engulf me as I blanket you.

Let oil disperse in water,
let light dance with dark,
let fire flirt with brush,
and behold both impossibility and playful danger.

In each others' orbits, earthen
may we one day ourselves find,
whoever you may be,
forever in my mind.

Utmost Contingency

Command my vision
Yes, I am there
It's just and only us
Be

One of what?
Our grips so mutable
Every day

Bicycle imagery
Sequential confusion

Our worth for granted

Woven Moon

Woven moon, glimmering
Spotlight in the sky
Stars like jars of unfathomable light
Fuck it, let's pretend to be astronauts

Demonstrat.

Vehemence muted 
unless (=) more.
Appalling 'geist 
to whom I must apologize
for that absolute lie.
Exists in actuality
as a randomness obscure.
Monks self-immolated
as demons demonstrated.
All tangibility above me
as instants pass below.
Seems toward a conclusion I'll never go

Collection of Haikus

Eastern Revenant
Wisdom With Innervision
Knowledge Most Profound

Haiku

Hushed inspiration
In a wolverine mask worn
Abacination 

( -_-)旦~ 愛

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(*・_・)ノ⌒* 

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(シ_ _)シ

m(_ _)m

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~~旦_(･o･;)

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( ⌒o⌒)人(⌒-⌒ )v

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Sprocket Collage

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~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJTLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD~okxQjQjOoCtJftftftzZNvVWvwLJQg96qsgojdsspjqsPpnhmaevYTTTYvxkXKXAqrtft4QjJL2IEFPdrt5TYvwxrnhbB8QjJqJ TLZzxlkcC3cJETJgJQgsaespD

Ernether

From countermeasured disrespect
an instance enacted of but none
a sort of shrug

Calumn'ated mute frequency chaff
Opceptradiovibewavemeasures
among other kettle-brew neth

Quantify murmurawzh hedge now
foliage adtrimmed by agilempath whim

queen never found in a queue; aqualust

Fossils as silhouettes, a lifeless hiss so stout
Domains of halftruths that oscillate once parallel
Further and further they stir rifts
swift
then shift
when sift
I've trekked to summits, been whirlwinded adrift
This "queen," this "queue"
This cue, this cube, this "quill"
Their aeonical "wit," it never quit 
This Q, this q, eases eerily
Mistaken for a tear?
Only ripping waterdrop of here, rain
Puddles rippling and collecting
Pseudo Poseidon psyche, "Piscean" aqualust... in pstreams
Dripping reminiscently... paradoxically uplifting...
Lords of the thrift, bring forth widths with their gifts
Scaling the breadths~ of the once was~ faces when too, winking


 

yes, eyes see

yes, eyes see... 
So come well with this, your thoughts
Behold as one who absorbs entirety 
Out from blue randomness
Our casings are re-engulfed
Owls hoot as skateboards ollie  
Elevated existence, existences
Equates exact ex-act forgotten
So forgo then to ten, next
What do you envision of a haven's hex?

Geyser

frozen over lake
underneath which a geyser broods
boiling bubbles under the now melting ice
interrupted by stark eruption
geyser stream torrents
whipper upward
shards of ice hail to the ground
chipping more of the lake

Wishes in Winter Teal (its about eating way too fast a pack of teal tic-tacs)

On the verge of a teal winter, wishing
an innocent commiseration would waft my way
from the ever avarice-empty emerald aura 
I let adagio drift away
aeons ago... in heart time

That is thought of mind as I appreciate
the synclastic indigo cuffs adorning this phantasm's wrists next to me
We are up on a mountain, above the plains, peering down 
and his translucent "body" matches the aquamarine vibe
An airy entity dressed in wispy attire, also diaphanous,
and his cuffs catch my eye nonchalantly  

Unaware why my journey has taken me to this place
or why I am unafraid of sharing space with a ghost
Yet certain there are woes here mutually measured 

He does not speak, no sounds are made by him
Instead, he stares... over the valley gorge so empty
perhaps waiting on a promise from a past lover, unfulfilled 
Without a doubt, my emptiness mutually shared

Hours and days and minutes and seconds had past, however 
and my desire to prove (what?) to the initial veridian zephyr that vanished,
undoable as it may be, sparked my decisive descent downward and off
And if as impossible it does exist, may I encounter a crisper quench
of that thing we know as comfort 

 

Double-V

This has been mistaken for a function; W
I have witnessed this crime, time and time again
A formula of sorts, every letter of theirs, when in truth, a mere shape
Making me weary and afraid of writing as my heart desires
Their eyes only focused to the far left
So I do not know what to do anymore
My hope is sapped, I wish to climb up new trees
Yet I am afraid of the consequences and the mistakes in your mind
They count, with letters, thinking I am more than I intentionally express
Leave me be, please, absorb the words and not their casing
They are just shapes for our brains to paint pictures
They are evil, thinking a slippery slope is a sign
They are evil, thinking a wicked martyr is a mirror
They are evil, thinking the lightest touch is a lie
They are evil, thinking this is only a tease
They are evil, thinking every etched evolution is an ease
They are evil, thinking my precise prisms are humorous
They are evil, thinking irrational claims are cues to search
They are evil, thinking quickened glistened glimmers are queues of depth
They are evil, thinking corporal machines see them
They are evil, they have jokes I do not understand
W doubles nothing, it is simply two V's.
There is no heart in their functions
Only confusion catering liars never admitting
They see signs... I ask of what?
Aiming their simple statements anchored by assumption
Leave me alone
The mere surface always lies
When it does not, then you are being played with
Leave me alone
Be natural
Write pretty words
Write pretty pictures

Life, in a Sense.

Weeping feels too relieving and the sun is out
where every moment may unweave a memory
leaving me racing my own inevitable realization
when this chamaecrista dehisces a barking pounce
violating what peace was mine, churning torment.

To whom with which to confide only incorporeal
as unfair to share reality of Phobos lest it I instill.

Resortion?? To keeping it all my own, roaming?
Around that which I wish someone would hear?
For the sake of sake of the sake of perspective?
You don't want my real talk and neither do I.

So I prance out my fusions of words, masking,
enabling minds' wander where this one is granite,
parched as a winter lip bitten, thoroughly gnawed,
eyes nature has glazed, wanting not to have seen
any of the tidal thrushes from anchorless juggernauts
afloat in an estuary bordering a brine of bitterness,
a sea I have gulped from and thus tasted my blood,
choking on my body's denial of the salted waters,
a vivid flavor rancid and familiar filling my whole face.
They said it was the only liquid in ninety miles square,
the liquor for themselves and crisp aqua for the hounds,
their piss for the plants and fruits' nectar the captain's.

Filthy chambers where seeded children are cash crops.

Delinquent maniacs rotating turns to scorch their flesh,
addicted to the fumes of death and decay produced.

Abandoned cradles overtaken by masses of worms.

Heartless cupids harpooning drunk and blindfolded,
actual affection most often unrecognized until ruined.

But all arrives eventually. Sometimes. In a sense.

Exactoid

Moments herded of their own count asX
Whispishly cybirds oscillate in plumdusK
Wings thresh echos from voice of metaL
Xiphias ontology against which contrasT
Nexs frm wthn to whch whn lstnd wastE
Vzhnz of dszhnz deep prszhn predavorE

Comfortable in Water.

_)Oceans' waves my own, aerial espionage only ever accentuate...
__}Question must then I have of it
__}Granted from whom these
__}Creatures have you been(`
___/\Oh but why must you formulate such an ask('
...
_)Line casters, you lie, lacing but lacking, much more yet to discover
_)Avian emissary not as appearance portrays yet wind does still occasionally eye take...

Missile Idiom

Missile idiom; of all, just this root

From whence I stemmed? Now severed from... ages ago

Propelling me in past, this, and toward entity warm, it and I went

Whether had the intentional it met, ever unknown

Root of all this, just a missile idiom

The day yet to exist without this realization

Pang of guilt, pang of longing, returns always to this

Pang of empty, pang of gone, captive my words mighty chains

Of all this, just a missile idiom, the root, still

I'd have to I the same punishm-.... fate.. were I frigid

Far too late to rejuvenate my worth, withstanding woe

Shells' crustacean ocean outsides, am I in, encased

The root, missile idiom, of all this, still just

Answers, remedies, fixes, amongst only one's words been exhibited

Source of which, ironically the same

Visage of whom had seemingly had me quaff potions of elation

Missile idiom I do undergo firing, at locations lost, alone and all one

Until the day I do uncover a who whom may mistily resuscitate

Hope stretches to fathom what it is to be unforgotten

Dreams once tangible, now stained reminders of procedural detachment

H~)o(~H

) (

onward polarity driven

victims' whittled away acumen

aqua endocrine endemism

wave analyst / motion assayer

~~~~~~~

mud, cudgeled, uproot  

gravity intransigent

so alters earth with shovel

prods dominoes up escher steps

co∞8∞oכ 

Uhh 10syllable lines stuck on net

Awaken me away emitting you  
Volley déjà vu, allurement flux true 
                                                                             
Restless vexers searching sectors sinכe כlues 
Wade through the Marshes and enter the Whose 
                                                                 
Emulsion from an infinite edge honed
Pressing it inside resonating bones

(nlo-8-lpö)'s "owmoeavonoea" in "^><^Lככuco"

Oval value; eulachan: candlefish
Weave to anodic  u  cider; plum                                               
                         (lol) כ  u, , ,V |n)
o                 o     |  |O           o             O  
                         (wmmwmooucu) aorist snug umber embrace
      o                                            O      

Visceral

Nautical nourishment Melds marvel Among visage
Zero      cites            Will     with     Victory null

Over oval orchards listening as light emerges

Zebras enticing Amorphous primaries Mistily   quenching
Nimble uptake Vortexes      breeding  Wonder divided

Ebb

Vivid umbra clouds never measuring worth
Oceans minting velvet waves moving vaporous wishes
Our nestled compasses usher driven blues
Avidly breach prism quasars delivered
Such serenity zen harnessing youth
Games evaporated against pure bliss symmetry

Refractoid

buds one planted

disenchanted flowers uprooted

soil he thinks he created

leashing me with his filth

where I grow from nature

he'd claim to control the weather

revered as a saint

I shoot
from where

the entire ebb is ebbing

but I know his actual face 

my actual burden

his

desire

to

control

the strongest word

to daily abolish

and with it

all else

he

tries to

reinstate

I

burn his flag

he 

tries to

mirror mirages

I

tamper his pace

naming children after commands

whose children are us

I

belonging only to whom I trust

surrounded by a blatant attempt to instill ignorance

I distill the water

he drinks

with poison

~

the thought of which

sickening

but

he

attempts to own

in place of love

a

confusing concept

my proof

the bird

that just sat outside my window

on top of the garage

at the right place

at the right time

almost bidding I write this

filling me with vibratory never-remnants

of odd hope

where from him is bred darkness

a perfect diversion

to becoming it

~

Untitled

cigarettes can cause cancer
maybe 
with ease
usually so 


always is answers
so find gravity is attempted

or else i am hidden

monarch air exhaled

we could raise that

kingdom flourishes

then

get closer us both

On We Thought; When We Wanted To

maritime measures of memory
bring forth waves of your essence past
as a tundra breeze
soothes sun scorched skin
and I am fortunate


where can I take someone
who has seen the far reaches of the world?
the answer is here
amidst acres of cherry blossoms
you dance in swirly bliss rotation
i sit and meditate on the aromatic aura


cloudless. no omens ill or not.
no crowded streets. no seemingly rigged street lights.
no streets at all. no street signs at all.
no street signs at all.


adrift in our own utopia, population two
just one tree in the entire field
just one tree, olive, in the entire meadow
the wind tickles us only when we want it to
a humorous yet gallant stork brings us our meals
three friendly moles collect our scraps and garbage and take it somewhere underground


too perfect is the only perfect
or else how would it be perfect?


clouds bring shade when we need it
and make shapes only we both recognize
it drizzles politely on occasion


the temperature varies to remind us of change
the humidity wanes in and out to remind us of texture
never uncomfortable


we find joy with our limited possessions;
a swing off of a branch,
a bronze telescope,
a boomerang,
a deck of cards,
and a bag of other things you have,
and a bag of other things I have;
we forgot the meaning of boredom


there is a pond


earth


and we are a positive part of all the creatures' world around us
delicately, because of our presence


intriguing ant hills
a single spider we decided not to kill that humbly inhabits the north face of the tree
friendly caterpillars that crawl the bark
yet, I have never seen a butterfly


we wonder why sometimes for hours
because it is the perfect thing to do sometimes
a life without thought would be dreary
and our faculties would erode


when we decided that this was the reason there were no butterflies
a cocoon was found the next morning
but the spider was gone


and a few leaves had fallen to the ground


and on we thought
when, of course, we wanted to

Dewdrorps

five dewdrops on an amber leaf
protruding from the side of a cliff
fall with velocity when I shiver

from my spine, chilling aspects emerge
five dewdrops trickle down my neck
five dewdrops mix with my sweat

five dewdrops absorbed by my flesh
earth's tears make for slight hydration

sort of like how a random her's vibration
taken into me regardless of situation
or for whom the titillation

invested in all who I - an investment of me
infinite softness of your everything
now you can always capture me

no one knows the tell except
mages and mystic arrivals

infinite softness of your everything
so you know you can always capture me

sail anywhere I would if seas permit

Replenish

We ran through their minefield mazes
losing appendages in hopes of honesty
we never received

Reeled in like an ironic boot
and then worn in private
like a joke trophy

Why do they cut coke on mirrors?

If I were digging too deep 

you wouldn't follow

We spend the slowest to replenish

foolishly? thinking of a return 

because that's how normal humans behave

They were never human

I know because I cannot kill them

and I tried

Their blood is thin and artificial and ivory

That's why they want ours

That's why they love us to love them

so they can sustain off of pinpricks

That's why they are whores

They are self-centric whores

Sickness riddling catacomb interiors

hollowed out spaces for them to store

with direct silence

but they shout in the subway 

And we tire of longing

we tire of famine

So we should gnaw through metal restraints

and we should find each other

if we even exist anymore

And we do

Of course we do

Because we replenish 

Regardless we replenish

In the midst of replenishment

especially we replenish 

A Snapshot of Hopelessness and Sadness (Maim)

When the only reason you live
is because someone else would cry if you ended it
you become like a grapefruit
bitter

When you haven't done a damn thing wrong
but you are riddled with guilt
you become like a past ache
forgotten
                                                                                                                       |maim|<-4
When you hate the moon
and when you hate the sun
you become existent only for a few hours
before dawn

When someone gives you a key when unlocked
then revokes it when locked
everything else becomes like a shoddy ignition
untrustworthy

109% (Best Viewed on PC [as in Desktop, I Have No Qualms with Mac])(Mainly Just Saying the Formatting Might Be Off on, Say, an iPhone)

 [~~~~] 

|Wispy innocence

|Oak wafts  from stride

|Airily delicate eyes alive

                                    

                                   |Tattered remembrance of a vagabond 

                                   |His sustenance  in  knowing all  changes

                                   |Still yet moving not knowing where to yell

                                   |Life is a drag outside the gate city of coffers

               |Framework

               |When removed a puddle

               |Simply said key bones

|Receptive grace

|Fruit punch mellower

                                                                                                 |Achilles of kindness

                                                                                                 |Medusa of doubt

                                                                                                 |Harpy of worry

                                                                                       |Empathy

|Fortified stream                                                                                            

               |Will from will

                                  |From parts unknown carrying foreign familiarity

                                  |Tried to melt a smooth wooden brick painted gold

                                  |Faithless from seeing the name of how it was done    

                                  |Hones with and disturbs collective imbalance

               |Entropy subduer                       

                                                              

Some Epic

The embodied blue 
Simply, the   sea
         of fathoms
          of        fish
           schools  in
            in tandems


Blue, in its application
to the  two  other  color
                             primes
                              creates
                               purple
                                & green


A       driven-eerie      concoction


Myriadically mystifying cognition
                                    on left &     - 
                                       right


Mad mazers making mazes;
                         a 'mazing'                                     -
                       location;
a 'mazery' ~
                       
                                                    -
                -                                    

This poem is a piece of shit

in fact, it doesnt even exist anymore

Whim

▄
Ebony accents hailed, down onto blank plane
Addressed to the none, in seizing umbra

Hexagons piling excitedly, on shape collection day,
Gnolls of the shape kingdom, liars
▄
▄
Tether to twisted or toyed no mischief
This hazelnut coffee creamer is this, where I
Drink it as it is

Sleuthing own ebbs of construction
For the links to satisfy cravings fiendish
Desiring objectivity
▄
▄
Desiring objectivity
Yellow = care?
▄
▄

The Whispers and Grapes River

Whispers of hers refreshing;
`.` .`  .`   .`    .`     .`      .`       .`   |              
~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~A tenacious deterrent                  
  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~of aspiration misguidance.                  
.`       .`      .`     .`    .`   .`  .` .` |                                      
             Soothing but uncertain; Warm water to a wound      
                            `-  - , \
                                 /` ,/
                                 |   |
                           This;    my  ebb
                            until    shaken
                             from   labyrinth,
                                     \  \
                              sitting    on concrete ledge
                              of mini     garden plateau in this plaza,
                                        |    |  
                         by a slight     pang alarming dullness.
                         I  thought      to satiate it with food
                         looking in      Ziploc bag I find that
                         I have         /
                                   |        \
                                         |Grapes|
                         and I have|     ~        ~~~~~~ I put them away and smoke a cigarette.
                                         |Grapes|


Shouting leers only my left hemisphere can hear.


Waning grip teeters over omnicolored cackles
of wishful wisps' fireworks pinging the ceiling

of my central emanation repository; my -

                                  A natural thieve needn't attempt their best
                                   to pick the lock on the captain's treasure -

What Kind of Writing is This? Poetry?

Don't you get it? I'm a Fish. By luck, I can back it up by saying I am a Pisces and that my Mayan sign is water.


Relate-able memory triggering word. Emotion triggering word. By luck, corresponding event yielding matching memory and emotion.


Proclamation that I knew the outcome. Because I wrote the formula. By luck, appearing as if I wrote the formula.

14O1

you
imprinted upon me
myriads
for meanings shift from one to three

the first seed I had eaten
reflectively red
made a cement base
you've dried it to stone liquid
cascades calling, soaring in fours
you

contort the next knives
surgeon precision unaware
accidentally hijacking trees
bluntly breaking branches brown
to make sticks

we ate seven times the backmask

peruse it yourself as zookeeper
and animals are paying you
with foreign animal currency
in their foreign animal world
tigers screaming at you to give change for a nine
and the respite is found in an AWP sniper rifle
containing ten bullets
it's ludicrous

when it was just your absence
creating a colorless place
a place i have to repaint
with your... tangerine whip

Hi-Tek

Listen the fuck up as I assert lyrically prominent
Empirically dominant not missin' the damn cup
Pouring from the pitcher I'm passing to the pup

Roaring 'come the stitcher' and there's never any stoppin' it
Cleverly droppin' wit imploring I'm the richer
Swappin' the stupid swaggers, can you swallow the switcher?

Moppin' up lupus beggars, werewolves afraid of my bullet
Paid me to pull it, I was poppin' the troop lagger
Getting ready the gats, the getaway gagger

Betting steady on cats not knowing about the caper

Flowing the route on paper setting thready the stats

Twelve to fifteen tweaks free the form for you twats

The maniac brainiac playin' the track whacker

Sprayin' perfection then slantin', the contraster

Four loose lines, chorus, then back to the pattern

Chorus
It's like Street Fighter, like Gen's cursed cross-up
What's that mean? The verse is as ambiguous as fuck
And I am as big as a bus when sewin' this shit shut

Wither

Stifling footprints echo over orchids
and I'm sipping bitterness through a straw
Lawless fronds open a cavernous maw
Stressed ponds

Mathematically strung equation
tethered together with two monarch wings
Brings vile songs in opium ears, stings
Riled wrongs

Transition to ominous beige meadow
where I maintain sunk lavender imprint
Flintlock pistol care-bullets never stint
Cocked mist

Be pierced by utter red hope castration
that morphs the pungent funk to paper cuts
Guts, shape of faith withdrawal now in ruts
Scraped dove

Oil well rupturing earth demanding
internal laborers' eternal drill
Fill to their brim will I plead of it still?
Who'd care?

Short Story

(semi-rough draft)

Perched, every strand of his woven self called upon for all purposes analytical. Peering over a boulder half his height, average, crouching, and eyes affixed on the “to-be-slain,” one of a dozen and a half pinned to the ill-reputed city council’s public hit list, quietly resting in the corner of the Town Hall, the publicly open portion of the Mayor’s residence. Over the boulder, from the edge of a cliff not quite fifty yards from and no more than twenty feet higher, peering, at the target.

The “Wanted Board,” erected in an attempt to drive away known criminals from the vicinity had taken to it like a challenge select, regular, aspiring, hopefuls who would rather stalk track and hunt for a human head than, say, work for the town as a woodsman or farmer. Each offender had their own wooden, rectangular panel with their name and other information etched in, sketches with varying quality pinned on the left. Some wanted dead, some alive, some it did not matter but since carrying a decapitated and mute cranium was easier than doing so with an actual, living body, “dead or alive” had always meant “dead.”

So over this boulder, crouching, from atop a cliff overlooking the scene. The targeted man directly within straight line of sight, north, sitting comfortably in front of a still pond on his own boulder, his left knee raised, right foot on the ground, left on the rock. Unanticipatedly aged, it occurred to the pursuer. Twenty feet or so to the aged man’s left was a rather finely crafted, considering middle-of-nowhere location, hut but, to the younger, looked just like a miniature lake cabin. Tobacco and a few vegetables patches were flourishing in a personal garden.

The whole area, pond and hut, were surrounded by the cliff the younger now sat on, peering, with a small, valley-like entrance some ways south. They were easily scalable cliffs, though, not entirely qualified to serve as any sort of prominent protection. A gentle breeze caressed the nostrils of the hopeful, bringing in a whiff of lavender from the west. He had surveyed the area enough he decided and it was time to devise his attack.

Yiero was the targets name and he was the only one on the board without a listed crime and had also been there the longest. His bounty was high but his status was legendary in a hushed sense. Never could anyone of the town, or bordering towns, remember seeing him attack unless in self-defense. Even before the board, he was hunted regularly, from a young age. His assailants were always drifters, unfamiliar faces in the county. A large number of souls had seen him in combat and not one would claim it was not spectacle of utmost beauty.

They told him, this young bounty hunter, clad in typical leather dyed untypically blue, that Yiero’s sword is never drawn until the battle is done. He didn’t care for or know what that meant; If he fights without a sword, he thought, that’s just an advantage for me. But he did see his sheathe sitting by his side, an unusual thing made of some hardened, black rock that concealed the weapon in its entirety as the hilt was had no handguard and slipped fully into the sheath. He was just sitting there in front of the pond, gazing distantly over. His attire was cloth, smooth and uninhibiting. A dark, earth-toned green simple shirt and pants of the same material and some type of open faced vest that hung hung from his shoulders down to his knees; a deepened, darkened purple.

They told him no one knew what the hilt of his sword looked like because no one had seen it for more than a few brief moments. Mockingly, they told him that he better know how to dance if he wants his cash. Rumor had it that he actually had not committed any crimes and put himself on the board. Other rumor had it that he killed three kings in three years, that he carries gems so valuable he could afford a cavalry of horses, that he was immortal, some even spreading whispers of demonic, or maybe angelic, influence. He’s just an old man.

He’s just an old man and I have no home, no friends, no family, and no money. And he was curious, most of all, he was curious. Eerily, at the exact moment in time the young sword swinger in blue noticed how abnormally long he had been staring at the target and the surroundings and how Yiero had not moved even an inch, Yiero nonchalantly stands from his boulder, loosely holding his sheathed weapon at his side.

“If your contemplation has been put to rest,” his words, his breath, like gentle wind, now turning to face the younger’s direction revealing to him shoulder length, thin white hair and thin, chest length pointed beard, “then you are free to descend.”

The target inviting the assassin. No ambush today. He stood from his stooped, peering position, slowly and carefully, keeping his own, exposed, usual long sword in a position ready to be swung. Green. Yiero’s eyes, averted to his assassin’s feet, were an almost unnaturally vibrant green. I don’t care anymore.

He dashed down the inclined hill toward the elderly man and swung fiercely and, to Yiero’s own slight surprise, more calculatedly than expected, like a left-handed baseball batter at his core.

Like lightning, like unnatural lightning conjured from some sort of sorcerer, the old man ducked without moving any direction, the swing connecting with nothing but air. He rose just as quickly, as the swinging steel ended its foreswing, a blur of earthen green accented by swirling purple. Gracefully, he hopped with one foot up the boulder in between them on which he had been relaxing, and swung backhandedly at his attacker’s face, connecting and causing even more imbalance than the failed sword swing. He hopped back down and creepingly semi-circled, leaving the boulder out of the way.

“To see, one must realize,” Yiero whispered again, “The rock to you, known, yet unconsidered.”

What the hell just happened? He darted forth and thrust to be sidestepped deftly. He slashes the forward force to the left, parried by the rocken sheath. Another swing, another step to the side, just inches from the blade. Another and another graceful parry. Like dancing, he thought bitterly. His frustration was brewing. A swing and a dodge, and a dodge so gallantly. He’d spin, twirl, and then when least expected painfully strike with an elbow or, more recently, a palm to the chest, sending the bounty hunter backward and leaving him breathless.

“Air courses through us as sustenance, a part of us.”

Gathering himself, he flings forward again. Two handed slash, one handed parry, and and underhanded, two fingered, sharp poke to the kidney. He’s not even looking at me. And he wasn’t. He cares more about where I’m not than where I am, he keeps his target in his peripherals. Trying to account for this, a pitiful, intended surprise punch to the ribs while his blow was parried was met with Yiero letting go of the sheathed weapon blocking steel and somehow propelling himself in a backward dash and kicking straight forward the incoming fist, the sheathe dropping to the ground straight upward and falling toward Yiero’s direction in time for him to retract his right legged, knuckle shattering kick and flick upward the falling sheathe with this left foot back into his right hand.

“But as it is a part of us, we are a part of it.”

What... am I feeling? The misguided profiteer had never felt such a mixture of revelation and fiery pain both in his throbbing kidney and now assuredly, at least partially, shattered left fist. He understood the pain, crouching there, catching his breath. But... why do I feel... reminded? His face raised to look forward in perfect timing with the first fully offensive blow from Yiero; he looked up and was met with an upward knee from underneath his jaw. How did he... He seemed to glide forward after flicking back up his sheathe and then launch with seemingly impossible velocity upward, his angled knee dislocating with ease the younger’s jaw, landing and then casually walking backward a short distance.

“Direct your thoughts toward and toward thy thoughts be directed. Take this with you.”

For some reason, he could not think of why, the younger rose back to his feet. And looked toward Yiero, his eyes still unmeeting. He lashed forward, through crippling pain and swung as if he had been doing it his entire existence, keenly. But in just one blurred motion, planted firmly in place, Yiero’s sword came unsheathed, so quickly there was no telling how.

All in one motion. From sheathed to unsheathed to piercing the epicenter so precisely, interrupting the final slash from the young man in blue leather. In his last moments of life, the words of Yiero rang through his head and he felt, as he was dying, paradoxically blessed. For the sword that was now in his abdomen, exiting him from this realm, was so beautiful. The second to last thing he saw: shining, clean, green agate gems, purple amethysts aligning the hilt, silver seeming to line the blade. Yiero’s words ringing yet as he directed his vision toward the last he’ll ever see, here in this life - Yiero’s eyes. Looking back into his as if he was affirming an order. He saw trust in those vibrant green eyes, his words echoing as all faded into nothingness.