Letters to Mick Reilly

Love, Language, Wonder

Softness, Hours, Pass.

Enthalpic pluralism brings change: It's like Africa.

You are pain; Africa was one, now love pours what was life with its needs.

Girl, you Goddess was pain.

You Goal is money. You Life is treatment. You coldness is mother.

Winter was Goddess' resting. Winter was another place. I was a pagan.

You were my home.

Justice with Owl.

Slam one and white is blade of peers.

Lower was a cock.

Lower was a pocket.

Lower was a mick.

Lower was a howl.

Failure delights that which is saintly.

Imperialism with its strengths and its failings is cloned in astrological blame.

Safety was Julia. Keep that knowledge and like it (I was needed)

Owl
Rest
Deacon
Philip T agilely made his aphrodite into a blaster.

O girl, shame is decency with feelings.

Illness

Blame the boredom

Grave and industriously self-analyzing
Ol' Woman bothers justice as needed.

Feelings mostly toward shame -
Delectable and annoying.

Clashing one against its own freedom,
Estrogen entrusts blame to a boss.

Naked as a poet, I run for good things:
Teaching, salmonella, positivity.

Guesting and Questing with the maternal cameras,
Derivative of foreign clients, I lean to caves.

Deal chat lemon offers someone with work
An inadequate smoke (slim and ashen).

A blog that asks, "Is a knave peaceful?"
And that's the strength of love.

Winter as omen makes sense of life.
Try to have another part of impulsivity.

(Crash your lemon in one sham rave):
You failure dream with Orpheus.

Slam with oak, play with mink.

Love of a Drag Queen

Sad lover enjoyed with peace

Moments with safety, moments of blessing

Mania for a possible sharing

Raving hopes teach anger

Seal the knowledge for need

Love and family are sanity

You dream this home



The trees talked

It feels like I'm hard, like a blade

Pity surrounded my craft with love.
(Lack of love) is what God found in his ardor.

The single incision brought a joy with it.

I am free for need.

Your arduous clamor is one with another's flames.

Tingle and play with your hope.

Urgency tackled my happiness;
This crack in my love is for everybody.

You injured your freedom and dealt grief with your entrance
into me, like a day old blurred arrow.

My savior taught me your injuries gave a safety to wisdom.

You have pulled this almond for my happiness. Your gifts changed and love is a rite of me.

Trees with their only love are to everybody's needs the villain that woman crossed with Paul's trains.(Plains deny a softness: they urge planets.)

Sincerity of yes to your Goddess means a savior darkened his life for plastic.

Cash selects its own prayer:
Deer Goddess,
You bring our love this gift:

Deal the jester a plum.

As needed.

Barbs for my pleasure

Androgyny escapades

Literally I am hopeful for this knowledge, but it only has a bond (not chemical) with itself for a now which wishes to last forever (death the bear shits like the straw it wanted to be).

Lonesome at this pole is changing a grass palace: grenades shoot from rifled barrels at mercurially tempered angry injured feelings.

You want sensibility, as proud as dreams with love and with leavening leftists plotting a mother's failure.

Lake a lasting lowering love. The injuries to me were in God. That felt stupid. That was a Goddess on God. Chowder makes drugs run into emulsificated efforts. You are meek to dream; as change argues with change, a volatility opens onto places that under you were pain.

People who let malevolence hope want to give effortlessness the places in suffering that want sum -- the "summary" of it all.

Mayonnaise bothers me. It eggs me on to oil kinds of laughter.

Words that snarling emerge to bedevil me.

English is money. Pain came for me with antlers. It's the way of happy ambling puffs of death.

You are someone that saves strength for your goals. I run to exotic wonders such as "level my death."

The differences ask only for one knowledge -- a fear of hope.


Popes and bishops, teachers and trendmakers.

Keep your perch or mention that our hopes grew from winter's life.

The major component of such is family.

Your startled demeanor (demented and direct) wisely drifts to the weasel.

Flames for Jason

Rendered costs (working people's wages are costs)
(is that propaganda or what?)

(The writer (me)) detours to hallows (just past).

Give a pope (a misaligned poet, such as me) their answer.

Caves (are) women (is) everybody

There is a circle at places and that's amber.

Softly I called you to my home.
You and I have loved this life.

I created this hope: venom and antivenom belong with this senior's rung.

I told you to say, "deal creep a past." You told me, "You called for western passions."

I want you to lick this need. I want you to meet a lesson.

This is hindered with Julia as feeling.

Mope or Mom.

Maybe that's what I want

As you know, my mind/brain produces words which are often non sequiturs, or even unrelated in any way to intention, thought or action. I like that, because I like the words themselves, and it allows pressures other than compromised analytical precepts to govern what I say, pressures such as internal, transformative aspects of life as I live it, but also as each of us live it. In other words, I HOPe my words will speak to everyone.

That said (again), I wish to write that I am doing what I want now -- that in case I keel over from all the cigarettes and booze I imbibed this morning, I will be in touch with the sacred and communicating it as I write. Though this makes me a mere transcriptionist, I will go with the flow.

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As you can see, I am in a really miserable state.

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There's patience and there's kindness.

Enjoy.

Self-actualization.

I want to write.

Employment opportunity sought for mad transcriptionist. Have means of expression. Will travel.

My mother.

And today there's good working in my hopes.

Atlas bore a heavy weight.

I weight a heavy bore. Hahahaha

Now I want you to let me create. I'm blaming you because when I don't, I can't admit that I'm strung out.

There's so much to live for. Today I was enjoying some: ice cream, liquor, food, cigarettes, music, books.

Today I have everything. That's good, isn't it?

I've realized that I can't do everything I want.

Maybe this woman tries to read and tries to love.

My father. Has died. I wanted love from him.

I suppose I could write about that. The love I wanted would have felt like this:

The freedom of hope is safety. The Goddess knows her place. I live for my angers. This love is not happy.

Poetic version of kindness is: bitch.

To me, in the word bitch there are connotations not only of feminine assertiveness but also the aggressive energy I want to make my own. It's not so easy to like that. So much for helping hope with love.

You and I have been together for a while. It's time that I say that I have lived to love this sour poem.

Say the last three words over: that's the poem -- that's communication to me.

The sour is the sourness of sour cream and also the whiteness and blankness of it.

I grew this ember to let you like that happy has been of love, R(eason for)God.

I have discovered that reasons for God do not encompass all that I think, but neither does what I think encompass those reasons. I suppose you would like to hear otherwise.

A viciousness imbues surrender. Why? Surrender allows pain.

This pain is the pain of honey, of RMM, of life.

I hope you and I will be life for those who love us as we slowly fade into the trees.

Money

Poem for will

Like in god talk
Charge cost

I want

That's negative

Please say you are needing my stars.

You in Goddesses' lists.

I am bossed in won.

I have fooled lust (and made life sam)

Gay woman is my hostess.

She loves good things apples teachers money poetic backs.

Deal is jesse's loss.

Rot with feeling of sanity: I talked to Goddesses living for me.

I talked to angels being hostesses to love bargains.

I wove -- can't do this anymore.

I live end end end.

Alfred did what asses tried : feelings.

RMM in god is leif feisty.



Balls of man in dog were sons of rome.

Ego.

Charge allah enjoy.

Something not to say

"Lesbian, love me."

News from dreams that play justice

In my fleeing from failure, a third hope has called me.

Loud was believed as a poem.

I cried for his place.

I answered my life with mao.

Criticism is so poetic.

I agreed to slave injuries such as poems, priestesses, orgasms.

With you I am poetic. It is dreaming that brings Goddesses to live in efforts.

Please allow a brief freedom: safety is changing to help wise estro-cops.

I delay my freedom.

Here I am, starring with dear fleas.

I suck.

Today I created this place for my plane. It has weathered a safe vessel.

I ran to God as son of dreaming.

You are dreaming of love with things that greatly enjoy happy places.

I charged your coping for my teach: level of base.

Pal was creep.

I darken me as dressed.

I think this failure is massed in flyshit.

Your leaving my zealotry is love.

Guessing for safety was peace.

Round there caves drug astro poem.

You like amber.

Path is trial.

Rousted for Mao : git drugged on tears.

making dun for stent; a worker with bean.