Go on there

Whispers

Faint and soft, unprotected sounds
Repair my life distantly.

They stem the crooked trace and
Interdict the cold narcissist crime.

But, because family calls me to belong,
Dense topics result in passionate replies.

"Cannot leave:  no trial is possible."

Thus law-assembled rhetoric gnaws
A panicked victim of the wide poppy.

For colors spread neatly in my life:
(Queen Love paused darkly there)

To combine is my charge.

Not You

One parts with dough:
Quite thought she's Poe.

(Psycho will turn:
Artist skill learn.)

Two pain-filled days,
Trees breathing haze.

M.O.P.E.

While folly aims for love,
Doves muster in sight.

Can pain make a non-sequitur fly?
Do you want to fetch the sky?

La Biblioteche (sp)

Oberon

la
ma
ra
sa
Ca


or

Anger cracks wisdom.  ugly randy is a passionate answer for a cackle with a nose.

This is the time for my patience to listen for laughter.  I have no sanka.  i have no morgan.  i call for omen.  I call for a sanka.

Dear grandma,

i have heeded the lives and presences, words, emotions and thoughts of scores if not hundreds.  There is  nothing but a cacophony under which i breathe my own crust.

Ellen is a really happy person.  i am her rogue.  i do what is safe.  She is home.  I say this is reasonable to live and to be retail.

Laugh for nothing.  laugh for all.

I cannot tell myself why there is a right to carry my passion.  This call to be money is my angery cruel affirmatioin.

Detective Worm is really a famous nest of money.  I guess I have the reasonable death of a ronda.

Guilt is where many after thoughtzs feel cruel.  I know that I have been a mess.  I know you are many lovers.  Allow to me for materialism the mess that is of masa.  Empire of certainty ingrown with many answers details itself in order to call for a lares -- household God -- to anger laughter with mafia.

Cull itself it will.

Anger is a rate of lapels.





a posteriori

yes a lapel

Evelyn

No.

I said it.

Au
Ag
Cu

Lots of money thanks the money that paid me.
I asked for money because of the rudeness of my anger.

No one was there when I thought, "this is a way to anger a rank I know as bop."

I can only say that no one reads that past.

I dissolve into a lake.
I mortar the road.

I love the world, life, messes.

Okay, there was something "what" I created that no one felt.

This was ax to Kelly.  I loved her.  I loved Chelsea.  I loved Rusty.

And Shaida.

Maybe you will understand that no one really felt this moment.

I made my home into my thoughts.  Now I have to ask, "where is the rationality?"

Elsewhere:  A reading of that past.


Tensions that I felt:  Money, Love, Pain, Rudeness, Machetes, Anger, Wonder.

This need to be part of another is a fear of bombs.  These bombs consist of family.  This is the family that I wanted.  My mother was loving.  My father was loving.  I cared about my ranch.  My brother is my partner in a mastery of , not fear but laces.  Patience. I thought of love as a loss.  I think of myself as a sack of power.  In this sack there is something else much more wholesome:  a sanka -- someone like my grandmother.  I feel alive.  22 year s since her death is the 22nd (day after tomorrow).  I thought of her because of this need to ask, why is there life?  She was hopeful.  I hope maybe you can understand the need to be nice to myself as this person writing.  I am worried that I will never know what entrance is for my life.  My grandmother was born March 3, 1903 in Tumwater Washington.

Remember.  She knew my life was pain.

Okay, I am a funk

I liked Sartre because I knew that his softness was the only way to be orgasmic.
I liked Woody Allen, too.

I am a book for my castles.  I build them with the reason that love is made to be masquerade.

Lent.
This is a loss.

I think war id a large cook.

I have given up poetry for people.

Perhaps not a good idea for me or people.  Maybe a good idea for poems.
Tuesday
I don't remember.
Wednesday
?

Thursday ...

Friday.  Today.

I am trying to be really free with my life.  This means I haven't done the dieshes.

I am really a fool.  Dieshes is dishes.k  I did not know that I was Princess Diana.

My great great grandmother's name was Diana Bradford.

I am poor.

Okay.  This way of making something call out for me that which is druea.  Guard for the money equals rascals.

Last is not the same as boss.  I cannot make you love me.  I cannot make you free.  I hope you will begin to say to yourself that you will make your life  laugh.

Cackle is a way to be free.

Be cautious.

Juncture of Miss America and a blog

This answer to my Hand is art.
I write my own pain knowing one is paced.

Entrances belong for love.

I answer you and return with a love for asterisks.

Elevation of palming your writing in a pack of magazine entrances.

Estimate the patient law with a rack of luck.


I shall now return to a pad of paper and a pen.

The Unknown Comic

Ouch. 

As a rand political baloney head, I reek of no one.
I reek because I deal with shit and it's painful to be afraid.

Orgasm.

What do I say?

Orgasm.

Let it go.

Masturbation is nothing.

Nothing.

I am baloney.

Orgasm.

No one is poor.

Luck.

I say to you, good friends make you good and polite.

I am, baloney.

Orgasm.

Why care about me

I make you sexually rough.

I don't think of pain.

Estrogen is a way to make me poor.



I write and believe that there is Dean.

I am boring.

Many trees give me good edges.

Moments like this.

I don't say what is no one's pasture.

A source of endless fascination

The part of life that made loss nothing but family -- family nothing but loss? -- is the part of life that made me a capitalist -- moments of right that are not pain but cast in suffering as naked as a cancer.

That "moment" was atrocity -- a moment of energy which was hopeful in its ranting of men being stars of laughter.

I used to be very good at laughing, especially at myself.  I smiled and laughed a good deal, to an extent that it caught the negative attention of both bullies and teachers.

No one knew that I partly had to be good to myself because I was a passionate and loving drinker of life.

No one with their own money would ever believe that it is easy to keep yourself beautiful when there is no pain in taking from others the necessity of both peace and happiness.

Keep living.
Sartre -- the source.  The Words.  The phrase :  singularizing universal, universalizing singularity (man being).

Peace is what I feel when I make love to people without their money.  No one is part of kindness who is also cold in their machination.

Easy to be poetic, not so easy to write love.

Assignation.
Acid.
Graphic.
Moments.

Ancient Orrery.,

Estrogen was my passion. 

Now I'm a possible martian.

A
lchemy -- a worthy subject for a worthy counterculturist.

I even believe that.

Kabbalah

777

Wow.  I'm a bank.

Language Possibilities

No one will say there is a man.
No one will make god into a law.

Necessary pain does not make god.

I remember failing to say language is
Packed.





Nobody remembers the failure of banding
Golden rascals.

I cave with a rare thought which orders itself
within its own past:

Mayhap will passes itself time and again
For my own love of ... western lies.





Latterly I cast myself into a loud passion:
Death pays itself for another answer.

I remember for myself the calling of my own make --
When you made rolling the leftist calling part of a flag

I lay down and parted myself with a dick
Nationally hopeful.




Since the day I forgot panties

I wear the same thing as I wore
Except now I don't need that part of facts.

Elevation to a road of my loss

Elevated rent
Made me rant fish.




Hold me

A gay rain fastens my law with right patience.
I love gases of the place with the cantering martyr.

Poem of Nothing

Etch my costs into a law.
Fail my men with golden rope.

Delete law and be strong.
Answer money with its own rascal.

Momentarily I read no one is here.
I safely ride because I part of a loss.

Sound begins with rational slack.

Pour on the mental love:
You will find no one but your cancer.





Iota

Effigy reads masks that are rough;
I destine my reason to its glowing material --

Bland entirety.

So You Don't Want Me?

Andrea, Positively, Girlfriend with the Laundry made a moment. 

No one is going to be worried if I have my own life.

I think that you who do not believe I am good enough to say I love you are low.

This is my way of making money.

I hope you will make yourself some beauty.  Then I will know that I have been strong enough to feel free (strong and beautiful).
]
Why not understand what is boring?  Why not begin to be alive?

No one would ever say I knew them if they didn't think I was nasty.

I bought this many creeps with the positivity of my entrance.

Life lends a lie if it is part of vassaline.

HOw may I contribute?

Asskissing is a form of making crooks into patients.

NNo one did what I wanted -- you may scoff -- castles of clouds, no shit pain, loss.

I mutter because I am momentarily loosed.

Oba, believe.

Drain my coldness into a famous rock.
Illness brings trust in nothingness.  Or was that vice versa?

momentarily crooked, positively momentary.

I feel roast drunk and melodious.

SEek the happiness you wish for in your goodness, strength and answer your pain with family.

Something favoring the foreleg

I
Laughter.

II
Peace

III
Margarine is what gold tries to make

IV
Poetry gave my chances for its own leanings.

V
Edifying inclusion of etches.






This solo rendering of love as a man's trust is now pondering a rite which is known as nostalgic holidays.

Abolish the dream?  Be the hope.

Queer days and nights render themselves like a man giving this actress a oratory of love.

I extend myself toward a low cost moment.

Here I see no one with effort of hope.  It is a dead end.

No one believes in race:  life is worth possibility.

Elevation

A sneer in my being, which rests within my ribcage, latches itself to the many moments of strength and love that I hunt for day in and day out.

The level at which I reason is at one and the same time a mountain peak of crushing weight and visible stress and a trivial combination of small snippets from the life forces with which I enmesh myself.

To write and to write forcefully, well and luminously is possibly not so simple as I like to assume in the trenches of my confused existence.

Lastly, passion kills moments of -- what is the word I must reach for in this moment of disconnect? -- rascality.

Nanny with a robe

Oregon and Alaska

Fighting for the left,
We proceed West.

The left fights for
Moments.

I read my paper.