verbiage 3

to your cellophane doll house. your brain buffer convolutions, your trickery of white coloration, decoloration, bleaching, profit-ing and domineering, you are the human woodwind. you are the colored aromatic, the all american elitist, the reclining house of diamonds and fur, your giant eyes and podgyness, in brain battles and blood battles of entrapment, of understanding of a game of unusual pleasantries. on my mind, is the theory of smile. hypothesis of humor. a release of sadness, of a garland of orgasms, of pent-up frustration, thoughts of queer, court rulings, babies, coffee and cupcakes. in new york, in my city, erotic at best, nomadic at best, rustic in vogue, i tell my tales. loud and bold. unprofessional, uncut. to be in competition with the polo player and the financier, the liar and the prostitute, this chromatic of cityscape befuddles and stirs the desirability of consequence. the more they race, the more they scream, the more they twirl in jitters of hope, the more they howl and shriek and burn and rage, you rise a step. in leaps and props, in the benevolence of a character bubble, in the stagnation of shadows, in the release of suppressed smiles, in hope to beat and defeat and fall and pick and move. to rise a bend. to lift your self, to re-appropriate. to re-desire. to re-evaluate the spectrum of the continuum, of moving on, of going through, of ceaseless doubts and concerns.

to ask yourself, what to me is the meaning of being human? to perceive and pray, you often say. what makes you human - a special animal? an advanced animal, a sophisticated mammal, an ousting from your neighbor animal. what makes me a part of me? to self-reflect. incapable of love and incapable of shame. the duty dome is a fleeting response. a human dream to oil a change, to mobilize and lubricate, to learn to couple, to learn to be, to learn to learn, to give to who? in cliche wing, in smiles, in soft babbles, in word vomit -my new art. the verbiage of the unnecessary. to the poet in me, self-classified in rhyme. to the nunnery and theists, to the crack beads of exhaustion. all i want to do, is stir in you the communion of self. you understand, you differ, you doubt, but push the flame flaring in the precipice of your calcium heart waves. every new beginning, in paraffin, in doubt, in motion, in lubrication of a power play, in the ladder of the metropolis, in the outreach of a villager, in silence, reflect.