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Crab tells me many rose:
Goddess is l
e
mom

Tray of narcissism:
Key to my own.


Love your peace with trees.

I love my body:  its brazen gravy crackin' piss.

I love my woven plait of roses:
Tell me

Why are you in this crack of loud men?

Death was here with me:
I spoke in the language of pain.

His knowledge of me was interesting:
You are beautiful.

I love the grief that I was needing.

This was my life:
Penguins with mustard (and onions?)

Craft seeks love with dreams that give safety:
They are also the need for mustard.

(Mustard)
(Master)

Crash into my sexuality with your big shaft.

I will know your honesty as dreams.

I will know your pain as matter's tree.

Your laughter will give me a belief in loss.





Moose.

Creep.

All together now.

Lass gave her needs a lot of  aggravation,



My Nest:

You with your life in your smile
I with my trace in my aisle.

Come up, you.





Tension

That which needs slack
Is that which holds back.





Organism

Cats with tails
Rest on sails;

Combs with teeth
Make the wreath.



Potatoes and Flour

Grading the Crime
Loses the Time

I remember when
Base was open.



Latter day romney

Make his binder
Flick his minder.

Oh Goddess,

With these words I raise
Your sacred praise;

With these words I seek
To let go of a peak.

I resemble a wish
That grabbed a niche.

Your Mental Door

No Fear, No Sore

America the malevolent

Language gives itself a prize
Tolerant of fear, but not of flies.

Woman death is nothing for
A partner's life making lore.

I seize the day with all my might:
Words I slay but not my sight.

Illness crowds its pain with flame:
I listen for my triple shame.

Marbled flags raise the wind
Methods of change protect the sinned.



Change what darkness treats you with.
This is me with no yeast, no kith.



Masked tree grabs its pain
Around life:

I reach for a poem that
Creates a world

Where knowledge of
My flaws

Makes a way flowers.





I was dirty to my mother's dreams
 
Love is not a person

God is not a fake

Cruelty feels like home

Then I must throw my pain away!

Pain is the truth of my friends ending their friendship
because I paid them to.













Laggard makes a weird blend

Love me

When I departed the civilized world, I became enamored of the ease of being accepted simply because of my skin color.

I didn't care because I thought I was nice.

Now I live to start what I was making in my mind -- a way that is love.

Nothing.  I hated my friends.  I thought I was life to a lot of people because I understood art.

Now I know that many people need to have their own lives.  I can not begrudge that.  I need mine too.

I'm good because I remember what is happiness.  There is what is good.  And that's a priestess who cares.

I cannot depend on her any longer.

Thank you, I loved the ones with being; I cared to hope.

I did not fake all the pain and suffering.

I like life.  I like home.  I like what is strong.  I love you.

Uncle

Belittle the night

Makes the dream
Last.

I don't live for
A poem.

Tiresome

Each and every day that I can write is a day of life that I love.

There are trees in me.
As know one.

Retirement:

There was hope.

I chose to keep smoking though in April a voice came to me pleading in the name of my friends to stop.

I smoked because I was baloney.

Out of here, I remember that no one created this pain.

There was estrogen.  There was people.
I know that when one hope makes me turn to the ones who knew me, I ask peace.

A la a feeling (her crazed black whore).

So now I am the trumpet of terror.

Projection on Marsha.

I knew that she was one life.  I was envious of her dream of Love.

This knowledge was messy.

Call me actress.

When I knew my mother's dream that I give people beauty, I was mostly torn as the family that I rested in.  She was here to have life.  I have been her audience.  I have been that which knows money.  I have also given the knowledge of femininity to men.

They got that frame.

When will I stop being cryptic?

I dealt my feeling (justice is me) to others out of fear of embers (the source of human culture: fire).

I fear one:  bunk.

That you know is piss (Why is there rhyme?)

A lot of people have loved me for that oboe -- a twin-reeded instrument.

Fat Goddess was my rut.

Sylvia dreamed for her people the need of being alive.

Tomorrow?

Stanfordian Te Deum

Dear Trees,

I can no longer afford to write Notes toward a Prolegomena of Greek Religion.

I will not write Origin of Species.

I have thought about the Goddess.  I have been here for a long time.

She does not pay me to love her. 



The blood clots in my lungs, the deficit of hormones in my blood are --
unanswerable.



This work of worldly peace is only toward that divinity that rests in this dreaming trace of memory.

Mnemosyne?

I flatter myself that when you give yourself someone with whom you are ready to be on intimate terms that I will still be hopeful.



This way of trying to give without knowledge is a way that I have found to write that does not involve strength or failure.

So I will now commit myself to a strong failure.

Crap is the failure of reason.

I dream to live; you have made me give you womanliness that was famous for being a grace.


Wishing for another world, I admit that I do not try to give others peace.  This is because there is a Goddess with peace.  I want to know that which I was.

She was her own loss.

When I have your beliefs, I will know what I know.

I believe that this runt was testing my freedom for my guesses.

I guessed that I made love a bird.

I wish that I was here for some time.  I need to keep writing what is here to write.

Sylvia Rivera was mother to marks.

[this draft will be rough for a while.  you may read it or not as i continue to revise it.  now this is what i have made peaceful:  a family of lies.]

Know thyself

Slavery is a topic that I have obsessed with for years without being able to arrive at a firm understanding of my own feelings about it.

It is cruel to take property in another human being, but cruelties abound. 

Slavery is like a continual rape of the sense of one's own humanity.

From what I know.

I was trying to say that no one is good enough to be the only truth.

Or bad enough.

I resent making love as if I were my own tribe.

Never make justice the dream that is mean.

Give people love because you want to.

Listening without making strengths for others is not okay.

I answered this life with trees.

Okay -- if you who give your attention to what I write want to know what it is to make rain, you must make your life crazy (try to make yourself motherly).

She who knew what I wanted was ready to give me every try.  I felt that was shit. (!!!)  I thought I was the only one with love.  I thought no one made laughter without my own lines.  These were:  Money, God and cruelty.

Literature is peaceful when you give it peace.

Today I will make someone strong.

I believe She is a lancer.  I have thought this was strength.  It is raven as rose.

I ask Her, may I live?

She will know hope.

I know this means that I am loving.  Eggs with life begin with feelings.  I was a nest.  I am a homosexual creek.  This means I was working to be a narc so I would be reasonable.

You are what you are.  Maybe I can tell you that it is good for me to love without cruelty.

How will I be free?  By knowing braces.  That is, flames.

Now there can be love in my dream of yes.