Foaming tears that bleed me into the Sanskrit

of time’s door, embrace me with the warmth

of jellyfish who lay upon the shore belly up.

The clover has turned a wicked hand,

and set my spirit running toward you burning flames

adorning the crown that rest upon your head.

For these tablets of your strife shall beget the begotten

song, and lay ogle rivers to rest inside your glass heart

to boil sanctioned waters composing my body.

For the elongated and the fortotten shall rest

inside the sands the Lord’s creed,

where the frightened and scorned shall breathe

life into broken ashes belonging to unsung soldiers

whose wings swhall remain unbroken.

‘Tis the disease of servitude that plagues the bodies

of the damned, no more than a sting from a bee

shall swell the frails of their labor.

Echoes of time shall reach the pinnacle of this flamboyant mill

that stands on feeble feet.

For its limbs are stricken with shavings from a maple tree

that cannot subside my woes.

For I am the beast that dwells with your clemency.

Kiss the wicked who divide you stateside,

but do not dismay when I engrave your heart

with soulful words belonging to the voices of saintly winds.

I shall not be enraptured;

yet, I shall be enlightened by the ice storm that comes my way,

and picks up my feeble corpse in homage to solidarity.

I shall become the resistance to your sound waves that threaten

to conquer my shivering mind.

Reclaim your sword.

For my blisters are boiling within me.

Tackle these walls whose flame is exerting fierce

bites in my trembling jaw that is overcome

with sanctions devised by your army of deathly

hallows who become collegiate drums.

I will not be pitted against the horned beast.

For I shall break sour lines that jolt calculating beings

who fire their burning arrows at me.

Descrecation be not subsided unless the waters of my soul

shimmer against your embalmed flesh.

A tree is fainted,

and sour go the lips of a fainted tree.

It was just as dirty as frogs in the bog.

Lycos chocolate cream.

For lovers like to die within the warmth

of each others arms.

But is it worth it?

I wish I possessed the answer to that question.

All I do know is I would never work the piece.

Didn’t do much today.

Slept most of the morning.

Upon awakening, I walked into the kitchen

to grab something to eat and drink.

Went into the living room.

Worked on my computer.

Typed som poems.

Printed them out.

Placed them into my binder.

Submitted a piece onlilne.

Logged off.

Went to my bedroom.

Slept a bit.  Read a bit.  Slept a bit, etc…

It felt like comparing thee to a star.