A stale tasting box The smell of sawdust

Is it so sweet To be loved?

I wonder what makes A performance so delicious

To decide to take a waltz The sugar in its sounds

How profound it is to Look

And by another’s account Be found

A ballerinas ball How beautiful, the song

Just as beautiful Inclosed in space

But only real If it is saw

The ballerinas dance

The ballerina bawls

Blood is a blanket Covet the cover

Of muscle, bones Sins and mistakes

A duvet of shame To spill, to blame

One in the same Under the scarlet gaze

Raise in morning Razor in mourning

Rain of veins Fear when pouring

Here’s the pact: The caviat

The karat golden Honored lariat

Red means love Red means life

Red means stop In sign or light

Red is beating Fist or heart

So red means start What sets it apart?

I guess, the best Is when red relents

And shows pure passon Or pain humans event.

We scar, so let We scar, so let

If it’s just one time One cat

In a cardboard box In a dark alleyway

It can scare humans It can scare creatures

Innate, concentrate In concrete desolate

But, Heaven sent chance An invite to dance

To watch a cat prance, Nuzzle, for its happy

Watch it close its eyes and blink For it is safe

It is happy

But for every cat in an alley In a box In pain

There are a million who watch Watch, and avoid the strain

The weight of silence Is invisible as gravity

For the ring in our ears Is a quiet calamity

An unforeseen tragedy

When the apple drops We seldom hear

In a simple mechanism An echo of our fears

The cry of a tear

The strength in a cheer A melody, haunting me

Haunting you Haunting us

Is the ringing that occurs With the melody stops

Micheal lives in a cabin at a place I won’t disclose , surrounded by creatures who cannot blush or tell him lovely empties

He spends his day cutting wood into logs

Therapy

And plays poker at the whiskey manufacturer near his abode

A maybe less productive therapy

Nevertheless, Micheal loves his quaint little life, and has found immense, straightforward pleasure in the nature around him

Rocks, for example, are an aspect he finds a gravity with

For the come in a variety of shapes and sizes with glints of glitter in some, crystal in others, or a comfortable plainness with a steadfast sense of variety

Rocks, he thinks

Don’t have to be understood, to be understood

You could wonder about what made them the way they are,

Years and years of toil under soil, beatings from the sun, parades of rain,

But under it all, and even on the face

Rock is rock, rock is grounded

It contains life and sediments of such but it doesn’t become any less or any more because of

Or

For it.

So rock is rock, and he loves the stability

One day, he imagines.

When he is too old to cut wood the same, or when poker and liquor takes too much of a toll, or to little of one.

He will find a nice cliff, of rocks

And use chalk,

And climb.

Because even if it cracks on the way up

Or it doesn’t

It didn’t mean to break you

In its own brokenness

He imagines

For long periods

That whatever cliff he ends up scaling will be something the rocks love enough to spend forever building ground for

Steadfast, and the same, and different, and known

Micheal doesn’t mind what would happen, when it would happen

For Micheal loves rocks, they are what they are

There is a form of torture, Micheal thinks,

In loving humans

So he loves rocks.

Rocks.

I am praying for fire

Praying for fire To burn branches of wilt

That suffocate my sight Bury my own will

I’m praying for fire

To renew me once more Gather shattered glass at my feet

Propel me off the floor Open a new door

In not purpose, nor direction Not ability, or perspective

But of flames to smother out The unneeded conventions

The pretentious message Of the human’s invention

Take the word for what it gives you Not the weight of your own intention

So I pray for fire Pray for smoke

Pray for paths To be revealed

I ask for bullets And for swords

Ask for wounds Ask to feel

Ask for pain Ask for love

For they are of the same coin

Ask the stranger for his shot Ask the ammo for a voice

Let a miracle be crafted Let a man show he’s brave

Let the new roads be paved Let the scruffiness be shaved

Let the stranger throw a bullet One bullet

And let the spirit show him grace.

On the advent of destruction

What’s the color of our grace?

Imagine gold that Flowed like Velvet

Melted-down, satin Smooth-drip Tune

Strung sing-song Tethered along Fabric of a resonant

Heaven sent Envelope with Writing that Is tattered for

The paper bent.

What do we wish for? A diamond-plated door Porcelain in accessory Marble on the floor?

Does it matter when The path we walk Carved itself In how grass grows?

Does the richness of our lives Determine how wealth goes?

I must relent, that heaven-sent envelope of hope

Contained paper, saying keys Are contained within the soul

So to close the minds door To the richness, when its vapid

Is to open one more door That ensures the hearts purpose

Ensures the beat is rapid.

Keep the image, map it. Write it on a napkin.

Realize the key is your gift And open the gate of holy fashions.

He barely spoke English

But he said the sky would fall today

Honeysickle dissmial Sugar bullet pistol Crystal candy missile

Grab our tissues

Ask if death would mean they’d miss you

Relish on the parlay

A total flush of face With 5 joker wildcards Played as an ace

When the things we create

Become scars on the face

Tell me if brimstone and ash If fire is our fate

On the flip side I feel it being where it needs to be

It being heart, Placement on the soul

When it aligns like stars do Around the planet when it rolls

It being purpose It being passion

It being clothes you wear Not the style

But how they’ve fashioned A studded belt looks good

It still shines fastened on the neck But what we give value

Can choke us withhold what’s next

So if I burn it all today, I know I’d be okay Because “it” is where my life is

“It” lives in what I create

When I write When I breathe When I smile When I laugh

When everything is all said and done Whatever says I can’t relent Because some things are done But I’m not finished yet

“It” dosent end with the statement But maybe it finds purpose In ears of those who’ve heard it In your eyes as you discern this

Hedonism

Pessimistic enjoyment of Beautiful things to toy with

Warped ideals, bountiful appeals To a great cause somewhere beyond

Somewhere entirely close Rooted at the center

Gravity never bends to weather Whether the weight is a feather

Better is on a jagged path Worse is a flowered prance

One promising wilt With a lack of water, change

One returning to dust to promise it won’t stay the same

One is peace for we find it in ourselves Take it off the shelves To walk on soles with welts

For to suffer well

Yes, to suffer well

Is the promise of meaning Behind what we entail On the jagged trail With rusty nails

Is a chase upon the tail Of the heavenly tale

To grow and fail

To grow and fail