Left Moments

Hate money resting dreaming freely

I gave myself a flower name woman

I thought of writing to be open

As I worry about family,

Thank you for your tinsel

I wish it had been "flame."




Horrors of mind, unintegrated with safety:

I loudly belong
where money belong

I cave rape is fool

I cave body is butch

butch fool

I cave love is race

Race flower messy one

I gave my life family

Estrogen anger fool

I dream of possibility

Clouds drug me

The words trip me up as I want them to give me a freedom from their pain.

The pain is god.

I thank him for his actress failing him with books and writing and shit that is not even my own fame.

I sought his name in life.  I found it in mustard - y hats.

Seeking it out is me effortlessly nauseously making rites loudly partly cruelly nothing

These opposites attract nothing for me

I see them here and borrow them tests are nuts.

I skate here to be gay.

I am not happy staying at a nother's possible randy possible randy gay ness is drugging family with pain and fame is body with cruel dream of mostly ill urges to love art as pockets next to my life.

I see there is my own dream.

I see there is a man with his needs giving himself hope that is nice to him.

I remember a need for oceans.  I remember a feeling of good.  This need made happiness hustle for mandarins.

There is a fixed circle of terms which underlies each and every focus which I bring to this small asteroid of my being:  safety and love belong where hope is home. 

I can listen for you.  But I cannot listen share art hooch/darkness is ranting failing is slow.

Okay, no more pressure, dear.  You are here to listen for your passion.  I like art.  I like love.  I shout nice man gas rusty loss is done.

She way lock is no shame; My goddess is nice as nice is life to a nice nice roman dust cloud.

Paper makes another charge.  I seek glowering changes.  I ask them to start a family.

Okay?

Nap.  Is. LOve.

Rap Race Lunch be gump.

She and I knew.

The relationship between money and borrowing is open.  Orson Welles I can live entering night and being shot into a famous rack of narcotic passion I know as a book.

Keys to ranting resemble a class mooch.

Now I think of looking for a drug of a star.

Loud and clear:  I am need for a lunch.  I am steeped in dinner.  I am thought of as being stock.  Now I say you give himself a way for a lover stink.

Paradigm backs itself and aligns with people (a barely spoken word, but central to the entire enterprise here delineated.)

Thank you for your reading.  I sought another flame -- maybe these words are the unsaid ones which belong to the sense of possibility I want to rank.  No rank?  No lash. 

No moment, is no actress. 

Art borrows good for a long pavement.

Each word that presses from below is also a woman.

Nietzsche himself is lost with his coldness when he knows life got his dream a rock.

Seek not love in drugs.