At any given time You can heal the whole world If you just stop thinking about sex If you just stop thinking about zen . At any given time You can heal the whole world If you want to

There must have been a congruence, And things made sense, The sky pink, And troops of men . Hovering flanked in cornfield alleys Under whispering winds, In peace time.

Well, kind friends, there was once a time in my life when I wanted to be a teacher. But I have to say, one of the teachers I met since moving back here qualified easily as one of the biggest a**holes I’ve ever met, and this other lady actually wrote a creative writing assignment about […]

They want to prosecute me for the murder, But I don’t know why. The murder has served its purpose. I have seen that blood streaming, And now my hands are tied, Under the sky Of cahoots.

Our lives are BASED on theory And theory is located in something called The “stacks.” It’s just like Camille Paglia said: . “The idea of ultimate benevolence of nature and God is the most potent of man’s survival mechanisms. Without it, culture would revert to fear and despair.” . I sit here thinking my computer […]

It’s a bosom of benevolence, And it’s inactive, though, As it only exists in my imagination, Though, . I’ve seen it both close up And away, though, It shirks With a set of fingers Crossed the lips.

How would the government not be corrupt, As the “soul” itself is soaked in conquest, The true bloods always knowing how Superseding, ostentatious elusion Brings in the bacon. . It’s a falcon, On top of a tree, Assessing its surroundings objectively, Ensuring that it will always survive, Soles manipulated near the jugular.

The way the universe quenches itself is that Once intuition blooms, Its use is rendered null By age. . Nothing ever uses, Only is used, . And in life, There is no death.

Rather than trying to look for new things in the world It’s my inclination now to just try and see everything in your image So I guess in this way I’ve been the subject of a dogma, But if this world is so foolproof Why is it so absurd and lustrous?

I used to ask for the girl’s music taste, But I’d run around with so much lazes-faire, Wanting nonetheless to paint a mural Of my own purple All along the fence of this house Into which the diagonal street ends Seeing new joys And sea-crab luminescent horizons there Regardless of the foolish aspects Of such […]