Be selective, He professes, In a legal setting, Weak, pathetic, The rich and famous, Who knows these things? Like beetles wrestling, Where is a decent ending, By either spelling, Life only glass compelling.
Of doubt, other mouths, A beautiful house, External grounds, A pattern of sounds. Steps: Drum sets, Words abound their flesh, Head in the clouds.
Soul, devour me, Like happenings you accost, I'm happy now you've gone. Coal, empowering, Vikings clap, bugles call, Climbing walls, kind regards, A human heart finds us all, Claims to what Buddha was, But could it not? Where do I belong?
Of stem and leaf, Love fed at ease, Of ends and meet, Of fair and sweet, When we speak of things We speak so freely, Of flesh and teeth. Shanty after shanty, See the men at sea, See the heights they reach, Lows so permanent and deep. Well, that's sweet, Yes, that means, Go ahead and feel, Just know, there is no you and me.
Drawing breath, intending a scream, Time passes, wake from dreaming, Sometimes excessive zeal demeans, So squeak like the law itself, Garlic men, in the broadest sense, Concentrate on the bread when pressed, But what of butter and how it melts? Even of appalling strength, Does it correspond to depth, or meaning? Rocking chair, what have you seen, Beside the bedside and people watching? Even if time lacking, population immense, Despite desperate pleas: fences.
Debbie downer of many outcomes, Money protected against downturns, Fathered from powerful maelstroms, Freshly showered out of sleep, What is deep? What is to and from, Blue sea, who flowers their queen, Without a penny, empty bellied, 'You let them down, son' Sour cherries, as he devours many Let them down yourself, please, Out of envy, twenty thousand leagues.
To scratch to paper to feel, A rat pampered can keel, Catch as cant, caped and kneels. To manage a brokerage well, Manger broken, belly swells, Change hopeful, soon quelled. The train is gold but gone, Pain is old game to fawns, Again retold, they carry on.
Writing one hundred pages, It turns out to be permanent makeup, Not exactly an act of nature, Rather products of one's labor, Tattooed to the skin with lasers. Other people, Other places A number of changes, fables; One's mind, the world adjacent. Fine, just fine, Never find time, Why bother in the prime of life, When eyes stretch beyond the tide.
To claw and claw, Writing of natural law, Barracks and arches, Scientific approaches; To be driven ashore, Hearing of chorus, Fairs and archfiends. Only death can stop me, Friends and colleagues; Stems, large leaves, Cigarettes, coffee, Footsteps and then leaps; See my craft on screen, See their past as I see. Consequence on my freedom, I feel men are not sheep.
Is my life but a minor arc? Mirror dark, a nine of hearts, Why walk into the distant fog, Past miles of silver boxes, Simple props with silver foxes, Waiting for their turn to balk. I could write ironic of a pen who talks, Night-time bombings, a man who moved on, Wildlife watching. 'Will I be fed to dogs' The pen responds: 'Terrified by conflict you write a law, But will the dogs obey? I think not.'
When you touch the water, Do you feel it's wetness? When you make art, do you ask, How far is the sunset? Like a squirrel along the fence, I hope I never dash to the end.
Of dying and fighting, Best saved for last, Apologizing and crying, Inside the eyelids: Kiss my ass, my lover lives. Wind, harvested by mills, Jacks, coveted by Johns, Songs built by peoples, Hymns for the seasons. Rescinded politically, Not knowing what to believe in.
Make a face, disappointed, Hopefully it stays that way, One appreciates a boys wit. What is pain but pain, To call a spade a spade, Our nature trail is grey. They say save whales, Scream of the rape of males, even in the face of change. Change my name, Change my state, Changing shapes on the screen again.
Some composers write bland forever, Passionate sellers, mechanical components, Bad poem after bad poem; Best service as archers than soldiers, Philanthropists of the moment, Amateur poet of farmers knowledge, Larger wage, cannabis smoker; Boxer of drama, reading poems and novels, Softer and lower, he sees darkness;
Global player who creates the local cable, Writing nomenclatures with known names, Hoping workstations become playstations, Whose drone planes zip along to no shame; Teaching to make rain and thunder, How your shame is the pain of others, Whose praise and worship is nonsense. Space traveler, declares his slave radical: "No place for a sail with no waves, No stone age for a failing sage, Place the stones on his grave, Then walk away." Teaching to take pain asunder, How should I, seek, become a hermit, With my star-ship lacking an AC?
I stayed at the Cambridge, Apples on the table, bliss, They can replace it. I am brave and amazing, Plus I stayed at the Cambridge, Framed paintings of swiss, Along with playthings, Replaced daily.
In defense, elected one, My experiment, my estimates, Defend the world, Descended of. He thinks of them vulgar, His second son, Gordon. Smacked on his buttocks, Told: Invent the world, Which will never come, With medicine life crumbles.
Modern artist, face the mirror, Not closet drama, faceless killers. Lost in waves of wonder, Are we not just slave for silver? Target markets, water watchers, Ask Martin Arnold: Do cranial ridges game the system, Worship quantum like heart of darkness? Bonnet drama, Common knowledge, Copper dollars, Collared scholar, Blame the victim.