CPoetry

rumble tumble---the foam piggybacks the wave too, with me, my soul, a shell, flipping and dipping and coasting saucer riding down the snow capped mountain flipping again and crashing on sand--- i cry. the sea, hand out, comes back, pulls me, i cry; i ride, i love. whoosh pssshhh...again. ::: oil rig, large drill, loud noise, greasy men, tired lives. "here we go again." buttons pushed, louder noise, large clamp setting, drill its drilling, black gold searching. "please, no more." shaking steel, weak muscles, rubber boots, expecting money. "God i hope..." bubbling, overflowing, spewing all around feet, spitting out under pressure, clear, clean, mineralized water. "men, we are rich!" ::: my eyes, i call them "You-You's"; they do not look, they You. they do not watch, they You. they do not see, they You. they do not obse

aw look, a little yellow yolk in its white incubator-home sitting atop the burning throne by which it cooks---losing its freedom. free yourself young one! you must break out to be truly untethered! ask the chef to ruin your home (stab you fervently) so that you may be solidified showing your true color ---yellow (not white) ::: when you feel pain, cry more passionately; a single rainbow forms at the protection of your pride. a double rainbow forms at the reverence of your loss. ::: if God and its Constinuents  reveal their eroticism, it is in Spring; never is there such a proclamation of nakedness as this---a time when everything is in full show.

make living Life inevitable, so Death can stop laughing at you. for Death's best unkept secret is its being inevitable. ::: to miss another is to feel love's elasticity; the farther a rubber band is stretched the greater tension it contains; the more tightly a rubber band retracts the longer it can be stretched. ::: is nature intuitive? No, absolutely not. why? It does not need a gut-feeling that must be listened to; Nature speaks its truth; It does not need to listen to its soul which listens to its heart, which listens to its mind, which listens to its truth, nor does it think to listen  in the first place. Nature simply is its truth. ::: does a period mean to kill? or does it motivate a sentence to give itself a will? Life is written and a period says, "Write"; Life is written and Death says, "Right".