A Bore

In Twain

The love is the rite
The creep is the love
The stink is the love
The world is the poor

Ashes of worlds
Appear, displaced into invisibility by
Words I speak to my mother.

"We could go to the florist..."
Instead of "Lets" do what you said:
Buy flowers at the grocery store...

In pots or not.

***

I ask myself what do lovers ask for.

***

I cannot make life possible.

I am here.

I am not the cock: being impossible.

O well.
Anger death was world trying to stop oscar
From making thinking laugh.

I make you laugh because
I did answer the parts with a
Poem.

World of moose
Writes
World of Canter.

But

World of Cantor
Writes
World of Noel.

***

I bought a nest to
Read the rite rude.

Well the rede is rude
In the Man drug crook sense.

"Do as ye will, an ye harm none in thought, action or deed."

I have ended many lives by being a
Loser of possibility./

I am bored with a naked
Drunk crackhead shtick.


It is my life to be alive with my own grief
worthy and poetic.

***

This is a bitterness I must let positivity
Anger world of love.

I have tension.

It is surely the only way to make life momentary.

Ask for your peace, not for art or trouble.

***

They find me here with a man, and I
Role  Masquerades with answers.

***

What is the humor -- it is in the trouble
Of
Being a rationality.

It shits like a pig to be a faggot.