took a mile to fall through the night
and the sky was star-wrought, heralding
the morning soon after, afar
but approaching as quick as soldiers
heal up the heart with vitamins
as i felt my left arm go numb
painful way was to go about my business
and slithering through necessity is whatever
i feel a whole other way now,
she winked at me and i bless it
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in remembering i forgot a crash of rhinos
and felt thru the pain a sense of purpose
all the things i could have done
all the things i would for you
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I haven’t the tired time to trace it
but the exact space taken by clouds
implying rain one day - love love lost love again
half-read Walden, I refused. I cleaned the campsite
like the devil had made itself out there, not quite.
At the triumph of the boy there was some heckling
blotted out. I had walked the forests in circles alone
hearing anger-filled angels, and now I think they
can sit quietly as the sculpture has made itself back from war
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no other now
what did we do here by the smiling and the involving
of poisons until - chemical chance of a few beauties for
dates to mcdonalds, them to me, myself unsure of anything but
coffees only, black or 3x3, can i imagine more now?
what a question you’ve been laid bare before
of course, but diligence lies reversed as how long
the inhumane fresh in your child soft skull;
being a soft thing scarred quite, really, shame
if the words are to be correct, tuned by silence,
laid bare the fruits from both sides of moon
and the sun preaches in a way
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A crow with a halo. One thousand gems of genius in poetry and art. 1889.
Internet Archive
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Bunken Kagami, Human anatomy, ca. 1800
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they told me i can forget. forgotten. ive been mentioning to same
so often the crack of whatever weather has lent me to death,
you as life applicable born above and below is something i could not clasp in tears
now so i wonder how youd be fed, how the alcohol
splits the tree into a wronged place, heals through blood
no joy in toying the unmet things. still for you, only you in time
and as if there hasnt been a toying thing called true in so many years,
i wish i was there with you again, as i golden your silence,
and kill fear as yours killed mine.
not enough for now, but forever life as the beauty bound
take this as you will, so many phonecalls and then gone
you must be so narrow in lack of response, only one xcited
is for me to you, for health of love.
the queen and king, which either way.
i would hold you down in comfy.
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pallis - caught me in a bad place
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pallis - caught me in a bad place
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its gna be ok :3
i am concerned again
to begin with eye, or both
forever on this earth, until again
love speaks its whispers to us all
all of us again will hear love and speak love
the horse is unto water, like waterfalls to waterfall
to cistern, i have learned, lye hand burned
manic cycles, lycanthrope never burned a bible
i miss many or any of you who listened.
or would ever - whatever
i believe my brother has only ever sang along to
one song, and it was not prior to the metal rod in his leg
from the crash as he was walking. i think he is happy
i have hope, as we must.
God bless, Allah, Moses, there is something of unspoken things
that are sweet between the oldest of eyes shared
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Bronze handle from a cista (toiletry box), Metropolitan Museum of Art: Greek and Roman Art
Rogers Fund, 1913 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY
Medium: Bronze
http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/248789
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AIVAZOVSKY, Ivan (1817-1900)
Moons
Edd. Origg. (x x x x) (Edd. Licc.: CC0 1.0)
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theres art wares in the basement where the bulletproof tea sat and i cleansed the rice bowls left by worried mother of a baby born to spirits, a thousand times over. and macaroons and figs with all that falls in autumn with the still open doors of beds on floors, and offering to the very big twilight windows of the children's ward psychiatric ward in the big old brick building torn down for condos, and they must give and take as seasons and i hope you learn for love that life is that, despite what's torn open in between
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vlog 5 its funny i promise
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hi im actually making funny videos now enjoy
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has it been the words. that return always.
as certain as soldiers of war as you’d believe me.
all the children always made loved by God
and if you believe this i’ll tell you that as the spikes
entered where all nerves meet in the hand of the Son of God
he cried for an answer from his Father, God.
but he was screaming and begging for his dad to just -
say anything nice. Who heard the Son of God screaming?
the disciples gone, terrified of what had become of God on earth,
bloody and begging, while the Pharisees carried on.
Yeshua cried in Aramaic to a God that does not speak
Yeshua who had christened himself cried for answers for God
Not a whisper, no wind, In that pitch dark night, as he begged
God did not listen. God was not anywhere near to hear the screeching
that is so loosely charitably simply coined “Father, why have you forsaken me?”
But if I know anything of believing yourself the Messiah, until six men in white
hold your by all their strength to a gurney, and a man walks in with a syringe
you know then, I knew then., I was not the final Messiah.
I was the thing that proves Jesus whimpered in his language that
soon became Arabic, “Why would you do this to me? Father,
why would you allow these wounds to make me shriek?”
Nothing in the darkest night ever heard. The Lamb was sent
to be slaughtered for his meat, to prove God is silent when you shriek for him.
God is nowhere near you when you shriek for him.
So for your - what you might explain
I do not question much
I do not expect the poem book of hieromania
as anchorite to mean what I thought it might
have once meant to you/ It’s lost and won’t be found.
i have written whatever on yellowed paper after paper
words on yellow paper as words on the way to my art college
always just short lines
“I see the Yang Ming freight stacked to heaven as if they go”
“The girl nervous should be the least, this from a nervous boy”
some lines from my phone from a decade ago gone forever.
God gone forever as the pegs drove themselves deep to the center
of the nerves. Yeshua, Joshua, who gave himself the name Christ
christened. my middle name, aramaic yeshua, deserved no answer
from God. He had killed God. He was a crying boy who wondering
if Joseph still loved him then. Joseph who was not his father.
And as the boy who shares my middle name went silent
in a second from the shrieking for answers|
Joseph was tilling a field, unaware.
I think
sometimes I do, in moments
where I feel torture is in how silent my questions have stayed
Why are you God that died as I cried for you
why do would I cry for God if I know doing so is a sure way for the pitch
of the dark of the sky holds no secrets
Why can’t you just fucking tell me anything
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