I have placed my olive branch within a glass case
I held it exposed to the elements but it is not safe to take it out now
It grows, humidifies the insides and condensation breeds, tears rolling on the surface
NAR June 2020
Madam of the Asset
It was the way she wanted it, the warrant she wanted exhumed from the matter. Fact was irrespective in her mind at that time and when the lie drew blood, she was sickly pleasured. Like a tattoo’s tool, an ornament on Bubby’s soul; the long lost cousin.
The undone friend
Never to release the thing or purge she was left with those times when she was by herself or with him, the man who came in between when tapped and stretched the thing to cumbersome proportions, getting the in-sects
all too willing to further taint and swarm, like a church gossip mill making sandwiches in the open sun; attracting the oft of kind to feed.
What principal could have produced, how it would have by design, predicated the good tiding rather than oppose the greater extent?
I came with mind full of promise and bounty dispensed a specific higher calling the clipping of their will halted this defined intent.
These messes are covered over and irreverent chides cloud these points of light, for a time..
I muster up all the pity of the fool’s victory when I cut my ideal from the work and renew path to completion because only the truth will realize;
the other portrayal runs for cover.
We are just trying to get out from under the midst of the wrong controls with the standing we are all susceptible; though a sum is worth more to some than others.
Torment of the asset
Seems you can get anyone conceivable to do anything, until they are found out, and then it is always drastic last fail.
The assets on a losing streak more willing now to do whatever it takes to make it break.
She was found out walking through-out, attempting the victim for casting directors or lead officers in this life. She could not bring down the heart, this blood, the mark.
It is a world of humble steps and with them you can still manage to catch despair from hands of a former friend who knows someone who wants the better of you, and they are willing, behind eight ball… To have you undone.
Those moments you show so much life in your eyes would be the biggest mistake in envy.
They always owe someone, and though you find at times you’re disillusioned, you remember there is a whole lot of come-up on and you pretty much can’t see until you are on top of it.
Just a bit too late and you are sent reeling, remember this; resilience is a finely tuned dark minor cord that we bend our ear to because what moves us is not what is used to.
I felt ease when the wind blew me down. I felt in pieces drenched in a cut of rain; I fell to portions. My sides let out, and when morning became, I recur.
I may not give up!
I’ve forgiven in my own ; far and away.
The vantage of those in parts that never come together in their own will, still and are pictorial as broken cups; water poured, then trickles escaping through cracks to spread onto table lost by atmosphere. Synapses, taking stride but the hand won’t move. A thought that can’t get passed.The soul won’t abide the waste.
So she like them remain in fracture until further from self.
Disillusion all en mass, together create an apparition of completeness.
A smaller child, the inner who believes to see a landscape shown through in reflecting glass, an attempt to walk into that which he distinguishes. Forehead stopped still, till eyes see through the actual partitioned portions of blocked life.
The innocent stretches before the knowledge of pain . In what is, and after.
Prosperous thought
As you lift the handle
There will be several ghosts of sentiment,
offerings derived as question.
This life, an emptiness discerned; we will spurn with kisses from the very thing touched,
Yearned for in its absence.
Still to stale
Sift, entangled. tracing neglect sought, soon satiated.
Fennel and persimmon grow, caused an absinth of elements when we pass that home past October, there to bide and breathe.
Walking through gates
a ride is riddled with forcible consideration.
O to be natural for the first time in a while,
Deepest oil paint rust on brush, a line of leering birds winding shapeless to convex captured only in memory.
This inner tension, the image scatters as mind
careening in rotation,
Shutter of breath
Shutter of breath.
PROSPEROUS THOUGHT.
There are old pages of cursive curses, coming at once, a cacophony in myth or test.
Trapped mentors of approval make faces in the wings, the message; they will resent soon after.
I am laughing with him
These old pages are furled to connection’s consolation, life by random gasps’ of wind, shape moving into a continuous estrangement . then dulled to a slight gentle extension, Careening in rotation
Shutter of breath
N.A.R 2000
Vision Of Doubt
The obsession offers pensive aggression; in turn to do.Here is the quota for the plenty: here is to kicking out of time after the spoils are left in path. It doesn’t matter. Oh, you matter, you wouldn’t believe how much; but I feel the hard distinguishable feature and it does not bring what is needed. To rest assure my own entirety, those silent strings will echo as the fingers snap and make motion; after this. I can hum the melody. This instrument is not necessary to convey the simple notion of my origin of this as of yet uncompleted song.
I don’t know what to say to you or what to put in words or whys.
I could enterprise my stories and they would come alive; they come alive.
But I want to create ease. Yesterday I wanted to challenge; fighting the oppressor of us all. In return, I found the pain of plight.
Tomorrow I cannot say where my attention should be only that it is overwhelming and I’m working to purification as an excuse to strip away the agony of hurt till I’m 8 years old again.
Something will surely come of it. Yes, something.
I will be puny at moments and thusly all of its mass and some. Still, it is not me nor any longer. Just as soon as I complete the next word it will change and be eerily similar and I will feel deterred and requited, finding resolution in hand, and then I’m clueless to the origins.
This is another fatality she said: my head is a hospital and the staff is scarce. My thoughts are in line wounded, waiting, waning, fading in uncomfortable chairs; unattended to, at least until the day shift returns and these thoughts find bearing to assistance.
N.A.R FEB 2008