What to Do

A.  Go through six large paper bags of unpaid bills, receipts, medical documents, etc., sitting on the back porch

or

Read a Princeton historian's account of the rise of Genghis Khan.



B.  Eat and take my anti-depressant and anti-psychotic

or

write this.



C.  Clean the bathroom or take a shower

or

read The Hobbit




D.  Prepare myself mentally and emotionally to be here for my mother.




E.  Admit I'm not a poet

or

Grasp the elements of life and communication and myself and wield my pen in service of  the Goddess.




F.  Wonder why laughter doesn't make me strong

or

Believe in hope.




G.  Admit that I'm just as impossible and incoherent as I've ever been

or

Allow people to believe that change is life.




Thank you for giving me these choices!!!

Ingrisu

To the ambivalent:

You are feeling pain.  You hear the anger, you hear answers, you have openness to cruelty.

This is laying bowls here for your gifts.

I deal and I make you peaceful.

There is womanliness in happiness.  I found my own injury and I thought was out of my bent make.

I remember never listening to the answers that were that afraid to make you free.

These are apathy rides to its own boss.

I fail a lot.

I know where you grieve.

I believe you are safe.

Believe in love.

I will that you read this with focing rags in your life.

I hate myself for being my own foc without buses.

Andreia wilt thou be money?  Love and a friend with love.  Safe roses guaared a narc.

Unreadable

Ya Passed


Land of Rain

I was at his need.
So ill with rain, there is -- that -- answer of boss.
I give candor because of your trouble with me.

Forested impulses to home,
Ample epicenter of vision.
Pan arcs reeds to reply.


Land of Cane

You will dreams of authenticity --
Not to strangle happiness but to attract life.
Giving sons their family, bring trees to thrive.

Pleasant raven drafts,
Grim orphans left with peace.
Open place with mirth etched wry.

The Pseudo-Oxford Reality, With Additions and Revisions

I believe my own face, which tells me that I can not malign my friends.

I also know that I can't say for you how to understand the life of my own plastered dream.
It is true that when I asked life to be my own path to glory I was lost in dreams of trouble (the way which I cried for my own race [beef], in other words, the pain [that said I love you] for my words making life a contrariness, my family's relationship with me.)

I stand here (I am actually sitting here in my old bedroom in the town I grew up in) trying to be what I associate with creativity -- soft, peaceful and loved, haunted by my father and his need to be his own masculinity.

[My mother, reading this, asked me what I meant by "haunted."  I fluffed and said that I meant haunted by his influences.  She is very suspicious of anything I mention that might indicate psychosis.]

Listen:  Effort is not what I want.  I prefer athletes of the trees, those who are peaceful by angering their chicks.  [Chick may mean subordinate female or simply offspring.  Athletes may mean monkeys, birds, or as in a fantasia, tree-dwelling humans (or anything else which may spring to your mind)]

I clown around like this because I am what I am.  I opine upon the life I have led in order to reason with my creator:  the same creator as yours.

Perhaps when you like me it is because you gave  a way that was active and good, that was love as peace.

I believe man is the way that my own (I am here assailed as usual by words which press me to a place of decision) dreams (actors which are my friends) tried to reveal themselves as sensible.

Okay, when you dream is it the same as the happiness you know yourself to believe in?

B:

Entropy was the trope which I embraced for my life, it is true, Marina.  I did so because no one has the left-wing issues I had.  I thought drugs made you read happiness as anger. 

This uncommon association, or seemingly uncommon association, doesn't actually bring grief.  Grief allows eyelashes to believe in Elk.

I allow you to select what is good here.  I believe elk are life.  I do want a lock for my lack (I make mustard as caves).

I feel a (lots of rigidity building) (discomfort) (trepidation) (pressure) moment of anger.

Why feel love when love is made to give men money?

I am not here to be loved as a man.

I am not here to like wars.

I am trying to kill myself by being nothing.  I cannot live this way.  Help doesn't involve change without knowing that it is peace from Reverends and Dancers that I loved.

The Reverend Julia Brigid Murray is when I am a moment.

Okay.  I wish to make it laugh.

I called myself Reagan.

Lime is nauseated.

Emended with appearances.

Delusion and self-delusion in my life

Muck drinks strings as flags.
I wish that I wrote.

M

O

Neck
Will
Snarl

Inches

I leave yes my friend loaf

The Final Frontier

Biology

Sat down and found a rook
Lace boredom was my nook

Cras

The Cit
Neighbors

Acting was a real aptitude.

I know reality keeps open this anger.

I am doing locks.

They got me.

Crying to old music

Where is my heifer?

Atrocities -- in words:
I bought vogues.

Trapped where my own share is
Life,

I made good on the fears of my
Mark.

Entrance to nerd blame --

I walked under the elevator
And found manson.

I pulled the room up to drive.

(Mothers read with angels)




Etches

Looking with face
On your lace

I raise it
Fist.

grounded under water

The castle -- my rulers with their instruments of rule -- are all I have to be happy about.  They bring protection, not division, unity, not fear.

Moving with the change of life, I ask that goddesses teach art as love and life.

I ask that love bring life.

I ask that caring is the world's home.

Omens of life are laughter and beauty.

I grieve the nature of failure (its line of answers and peace).

My need to be safe is the need to be my own laughter.

I can not be my own fool.

If you wish for love, then ask what is veiled?

I am with that vulture who is my death.

I see myself in her dream:  She is need for her own poem.

I have brought her pain sans love.  She is not here for my lessons.

I made Jamie feel failure.  It was cruel to be her gay roach.

Everything that makes me love people is also that which makes me kill my own  dreams.

[Just said that to my mother]

I do not have the answer to moments of fear.

No one wants books because they are raw.

Law bores families.

I write like a nutjob

I'm not even going to pretend I'm writing poetry.  Lamp cold change argument death navels stepping rancid cold row law shit god moose

Etching row guess

I was hopeful that somehow I would deal with this kinetic failure.

It turns how?  my life is cruel in one respect:  I am a book.

I like that.

No one respects a book.

Using your life to make a book is destructive and a betrayal.

I expect that when I become a pinch of rope that you will be my argument against love.

My emotions:  Dark ram god gives no one love.

I am worried about this change.

I read somewhere that when there is cruelty that people don't know why they are failing to be loving.

Cruelty carries many priests, many cruelties, many sacks of dense roses.

I am dense.  I am insensitive.  I torture myself because I hate my lamp.

A lamp is crazy, like a whore.  I don't say what a whore is.  I don't say what that is.

Failure is so soothing. 

Poem post-op pope.

I tend to say what is there to say.  I think that I am a post-op nut job.

Nut job = mars as rite of law.

Kill the drug addicts for  they hate their lives.

I am the only cruelty that is my own book.

Clarify.  PLEASE clarify.

Compassion and empathy are when I give myself a way to live that does not involve passion.  Passion makes the only reason to be good.  Love.

I will that you change your life.

I will that you become your own peace.

Death will not kill legs.

I receive this as a way to say:  It is my right to say that art is my memory of justice and love.

I tell you live.

I tell you be happy.

I tell you be what you need.

I dream that life god is not love money.

O goddess like this a fruit.

An anemone.

A lone.

A moment of love.

In one word there is Her -- bimbo.

Try to be what is thus.

I feel free of my ashes.

I cannot write like this and expect beauty.   I love food.

Attention

I Take My Role As Loaf (I have no idea)

I don't know where to go for money.

Ham resting with illness.
An edge of that aching vaporous rant.

I babied what was my own moment,

Burying my friends in sapphires.
(Blue is my color)

My friends gave me art;
I have to give them bees.

Actresses I blamed for last dreams, for last reasons,
Which consist of my leftwing loves --

Paramaterialism opening to Navel women.

Flowers which death gives myth as tests of
Pleasurable intention are losing authority.

I need to buy keepers.

Each line may be the last except that
These thoughts which die every second

Collect their own epigone -- attention from me.

I died writing a last flower:
Guilt was a far cruel evil.

Let go of the guilt and the equation
Consists of frail moments.

I drive myself to be creative in order that
Strange marks -- bless their mention --

Claim my onus:  the man's cologne is
My drug.

Crazy failure to grind my own life
Into loose nesting of right and clay.

Actress deal needs a part why a
Lamb orphan likes her gimp.

*   *   *

Openness rides to the dream of
A share in life.

I can't stand this hatred for my
(MOVE YOU CROOK)

Grain grain where do you
Keep your flame?

I thank you for making this lake
A safe place to be fake.

I have to give up anger for farce.
I've destroyed things because I like it.

Hot death got lotion.


*    *    *

I want to be a bitch who changes things so that she doesn't have to give babies to herself and not be a friend.

Law is you.

Lateral Collage (Damn)

Go


Ecstasy was my love for -- rest --                                
Thank you is reading no letter.

Empire needs agitation to
Give wrath a raft.

I/you

Greet rain in its alcoholic
grain.

There was nine harsh
And failure itches with moments
That (dry) fail as omens of life.

Pain no one made kills rhizome
horizon (drying) in this low rock.

Who is a native? Who a slave?

The camera works with the
Look of anger.

I say for my life:
Rope destiny is inches.

The cool-down on the treadmill
stress test:

Math wizard dressed in her
Mother's guests.

I maintain to you that
Lepers gave their own friends
For my flow arise.



Tautology

An exercise in love
Will a new place
Dream of
Literature?



Similarity

In the rear of my mind,
I have collected the
Death of roman ropes.

These Janus doors
Remain thought of
Playing fast.



Emerge

I died working
There.

Leaving the clothes
Flare.



Singularities

I use words that fight my life.
They are from a place where
Moments (another resistant word)
Give (a word from an equanimity/treachery)
(To be honest, that moment passed)

Matches.


Embarcadero Combs

I write malo, St.
Density kills raiding a lot of
Omen.

Itching for a hope.

Darryl Slimes his naked
Reach.

I will that there is
Mondrian.

I catch the present in a cave.





Foible

This time I will get it right.
Epoxy mirage licks it own death.

I forecast a world where manners
Deliver ascension to tanners.

You have known why.

I lasted until wgogra (Collateral Damage)



Macabre

Orgoth woman likes aching embrasures:
Illness death pain is mostly life.
(Agreed)

Worth and volume repel the straw.

I laugh when I matter.
A pagan trying to be daunting.

Hahahahaha
(Give to the needy)




Standing, Here.

Opining whether the ocean has waves
strong enough, large enough, momentously free enough --

Learning whether right is launching
Practical enough dreams toward the targeted enough problems --

Keeping to oneself thereby
The matter at hand:

Law(ns), Marble(s)
Love for me enough.

Orion noir O

Let me tie your shoes, my daughter.

You are the evidence of life.
I called you to be jasmine's grave.

There is good fairly and peacefully

When will you give me your rescue?

Last night for marking logs.

Savory

Impulsive rain orchards mark

Down the margrave's orchid

Elder art is what it is

And why the champion?




Lesson rest