Everyday I dream of the girl that has the keys
To every lock
And every door
And every mysterious safety deposit box
Left there from another life.
Where there was not much pain.
Life in one bag to 3 boxes.
A dream I dreamed of.
Denied request.
Sent to bench.
This identity will always be Millenia.
56 the trick, and 86 the hit.
Got caught on some cruise liner too many times.
Buy me a plastic seashell.
Paint it with hibiscus.
And Creaololian will find you unique.
Like you say.
Martinique caught.
Somewhere fought.
And salty snail is my vengeance.
Every origin story shy.
Orphan from the Moon
And made of stardust up high.
Bamboo Angel.
And claimed succubus.
I morph my entity and you call upon god-you-dissed.
Even en route..
I change my mind and throw up doubt.
And left the force take the wheel.
I rather die with regrets held up high.
I really let myself get close to caring.
And even when I dismay.
In weakness I say,
I really do prefer intimacy.
Shyer than hell.
Jump Street Veteran
With 70s hail for 3 years left.
Spinal Cancer by 94, on my 34th birthday.
And I’m just given
Undead
As diagnosis.
Like “nothing is going to..” hurt? “Me?”
Bullshit, I called it.
Smelled it in lilyflower methylieneane solvent.
And I too tinted blue in codes.
Switched the deck, made up the rest.
Every code, a rainbow starling.
Find me starken, I will go walking.
Hit with me the car, you jealous doppleganger ballerina.
All your skater boyfriends have injuries and swollen car bone histories,
They always choose their mommie to go back to.
When the bandages need to be taken off
And they choose mommy badger.
A terrible world.
White People everywhere,
And this is my Land and I sigh in demand.
When Nuyorican Jew thinks they own this shit.
I’m not pointing names or heretics games.
Country Bumpkin did not come from me.
I can yeehaw and CB and allude in panic-attack you’ve heard me.
Rally and yowler the RoanakeSnakeStarlink
And somehow a 16 wheeler is meant to hit
The OKJA with
And you bring stupid surgiefied white girls for a finale.
I’m going to die.
My self-deprecations even sigh for me.
I am
Always
Utmost
Humiliated.
My life is shit,
I’ve got no grip
This empathy test,
Even in witchcraft circle wenches.
Druidism started with Croatia.
The Croatoan.
The Visayan.
The Filipino are Irish eating
Trafficking food made for prostitute.
I buy a spare coupon meal.
Miserab feel.
Cut my hair to puncture your dollies and their cracked faces.
Cracked out on blame.
And I choose shame – this is wrong.
And keep gathering information.
Circulated Word
And Comprimised-World.
I chose no shame in your game.
I rather alight in sight and choose no might.
I hate flies on my radar.
Never alone.
Act like you can forget I’m blind and deaf.
And scream at spooky scene.
The drugged orphan Goddess took the letter-openers to her eyes and ears.
Showed them shut in books o’ blood
And used yarn to say no more elixir or tonic.
Puritan-test.
Your medicine is grest.
I cannot do it anymore.
Your ways are evil, vile, wicked.
And shamed when the cool ones you created.
Mock you in authenticity, shadowed-shell.
Dominicana franks and I recruit the lames.
The gangbanger, the whore, the junkie.
Howl little wolves,
I raise em’ myself.
And I only see em once or twice.
My people take care of growing the rice.
And my Gods watch you in Xizahiang
And all of Sichuan still remembers the episodes and think you’re lame.
They noticed two traffickers of american trying to congest the Wolf.
Dick says sure, publish the show.
And my glasses Kent in some show of rent.
I turned off my Chakras to show you the
Real Me.
Reflection Visions see.
Call on a God.
Black-Out Sheba Body-Modification Lot.
I’ve been salty since I dropped on black spike in “China.”
Charlestown Bay, SC.
And soulty for South, I pick up the rack.
Don’t you know the biscuit used to be drywall hardtack.
Sheetrock for croutons.
You were given granite and crosswalk.
Shoe leather.
And I forage for sweet onion and winter.
The pilgrims did no. They were spanish back then tho.
Oh trumbo-columbo you sold yourself short in marshmallow vanilla.
And my shit turns to pods. And shoe polish god.
Mexican Food is just less-spicy Isreali.
Whatever is real, to you.
Lithuania Berry Beer, and I’ll say three-cheers.
Never saw those girls again but the new dialogues mention every two weeks.
Don’t come round near there.
And invisible redlights get squished,
By
Green, green, green fields.
In
Betelguese’
Presence.
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