Nonsense
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a broken pencil
my thoughts wander
through the halls
of wonder
trying to make
beauty from mess
my thoughts they struggle
to put everything in place
Yippie ki yay ki yo,
Singin along my bro.
Yippie ki yay ki ya,
Playin in the playa.
Yippie ki yay yahe,
Down the slope on ski.
Yippie ki yay Yamee,
Dancin with a shimmy.
Beyond the melting snow, I flee to stand
atop the rock, somehow seeking a balm.
Without a thought, still hope, a cause or plan,
I venture out each day, alone for calm.
When I was younger than today, my wit
Words wired words weird words warded words worried words,
Worlds wrought with words, walled with words, wrecked with words,
Wily writers work with words which welcome wrangling whilst wakening weakness,
Fiddle-dee,
Fiddle-ro,
Do you know,
What is so?
Fiddle-fi,
Fiddle-fat,
I am who's known,
As the rhyming cat.
Fiddle-fum,
Fiddle-rum,
What walls of welfare
take labor into interests
that shine for example
the reinforced radical
hooks never take hold
power or policy
shake stupid and crazy
name a price on hipness
The green glass doorThe double letter dilemmaKeeping logic livelyLooking less appealing each dayRealizing reality is really dullWe should instead kill senseAnd hold on to lost letters
I couldn't think of anything I hated more than Nihilism.
And Nihilists.
And anything that has anything to do with Nihilism.
I hated it.
It's starting to make sense, though.
Popeyes or Five guys?
Either way, I'm getting my cajun fries.
Feel free to attempt to stop me.
For that is an impossibility.
Have a nice day!
Oh, weeping daffodil, why do I cry,
A great pouring rain, but I can't bring you life?
Oh, mountain high, why do I climb,
If only to find higher mountains behind?
A camelopard gravid with sensuous tastes
Turned to an emmet for a quiff of complaint
“Do you enjoy your provender raw or percoct?”
Which led to a moment of formicine shock
The camelopard in sooth was arrantly hurt
There are times
Times of happiness and times of joy. Moments that I feel like the sun.
But you can't look at the sun.
The sun
It shines so endlessly, affecting everyone it touches
The Checkpoint..
There is a point Where impunity is cheap,
Just that point where asylum is not in check,
Our uniformed gods are now in chess,
Ready to launch at you as pawn.
The stars are filled with the light of the world;
Each memory,
Each daydream,
Every encapsulation of the universe.
Illuminating the darkness all around,
Encompassing the beauty of a treacherous sea of being.
I sit in a broken glass table
Try to take my mind off all my troubles
These words spill out so easy
I can’t believe it.
Another book,
Another pen
Another masterpiece Unfinished,
I promise you I will write it, when I am alone, it pours out. I can't write anything happy, yet happy is how I feel. Its alway sunny in philledelphia, it's not art, just words I'm throwing out. I got a message I cannot read, I got a message I
Sometimes there comes upon me
The desire to spill words from my lips
An aching and a sad debating for myself
To be heard.
I want you to know that I try my very best
To use "Proper grammar,
The moon beams through a sliver in the clouds,reminding me of the light in your eyesYou are the greatest affliction.
You know I wrote a whole poem not more than two seconds ago
what a shame I let it go
i wish I could rewrite it
Rambling, brambling,
Preambling and meandering
The blush rises through sunrise
Diamonds flow like UFO beams on
Shining luminescent rabbits.
Shush. Can you hear that?
When I was eleven, I knew what I was going to do and how I was going to get there.
I wrote because the world looked better through my eyes.
Soul and Rip it up
Playing with words
Pleasurable arrangement
Perfect asymmetrical
Syllables
Nonmusical
New modern
Poetry bullshit
or ran the me website found
are that their pavement consciously drew ravenously myself
notepad with syringe will very its even are me whore
hung gold-tipped which if jeans preserved
the are bought to saw
Lately I’m beginning to think that all my ideas are going down the drain of a sink
Who’da think that I’m on the brink of losing my mind, spilling my drink and might have to visit the shrink
Down, down, down, the rain pours down
Her majesty, the sky, puts on her dull gray gown
Thunder, the flirt, tests his highness’s will
I don't believe in love.
Its fairytale nonsense.
A woman can be a dove.
One without a conscience.
It isn't real
and never will be.
Because men steal
and no one's ever free
to do what they want.
Sacrifice a pleasant morning
For a fucked up night?
I think no
but it's nice to have
your share of
afternoon delights
strictly Starland-
I don't get
the concept of
I am thinking thoughts,
and thoughts are thinking me.
Dreams are drawing lots,
to which one it will be.
Be it will, make what you may,
and I will follow through.
Come the ill, or Death's game play,
