.

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 things.

What made me good at partying and getting stoned back in the day,

Namely not caring about anything,
Has eventually hurt me in my effort to institute integral human theory in my everyday life in the real world.
.
But then,
Obviously,
I think,
Well what the hell anyway,
They won’t let me be a teacher because I got stoned
And now weed is legal everywhere but Indiana,
I had a little black girl ask me in Colorado, “Can you be my teacher, like, EVERY day?”,
And I handed this black kid who glared at me my Bad Brains CD,
Said,
You’ll probably like them,
Smiled a little half grin,
The kind I get when I think about Vanity Fair,
And maybe,
Other means of escapes.

Well, I mean,

I don’t even know the place where
I end
And anybody else begins,
.
And it seems like we were always in this jail,
This jail that killed Michael Jackson and Ryan White
To compete,
To always compete

The point of being a Virgo is giving other people something to believe in. This comes from being born on the harvest. During the period of our entrance into this world, humanity is reflecting and pausing, considering the level of food they’ll have for the upcoming winter. This comes to be our identity, as Virgos — this constant awareness of general levels, and one of them is the fluctuating level of solidarity, or simple good will.

If Virgos have a flaw, it’s probably our weak aspects in exhibiting personality before a camera, or before a group of people upon first sight. This is because genuineness is of paramount importance to us. In our constant seeking of truth, the mental pillars we form are of undeniable authenticity, whereas often the nature of fast-paced America is simply putting forth a light, malleable personality, as a way of letting other people know that your mind is their domain. This is a key component in workforce capitalistic marketability. So not to complain about any handicap that Virgos might be at in getting or maintaining a job (or wanting to, in the first place, for that matter), but roughly, the reason why stupidness is endorsed officially and culturally is that it is a necessary quality of official hierarchical obedience.
So though Virgos are obviously sluggish in the department of vaudeville quip, we are capable of deep, intense intuition, satisfaction and happiness, and we usually make it our goal to relay this happiness unto others, once we achieve it. In the presence of a Virgo, an individual is likely to get the strong notion that life is a continuum, that the Earth is constantly evolving and that the objectives for which we live are not synthetic, quadrilateral, documentable or contrived, but rather are affective, and related to humanity’s vision of the universe, and sense of purpose.
Is it possible for, for a person’s entire life, their mind to be wound up in an un-winnable struggle, but for this life to still be worthwhile? This is question material I ask myself now, as a Virgo, constantly obsessed with being a better person, being more light-hearted and being more accepting of aesthetic changes in society like technological emergence, and non-physical communication. I tell myself, over and over, I’ll only call something a humanitarian crisis if a Gemini does, first.

It must be interesting

To sit and think about
The things that make you a woman.
.
But then,
I could see how that would pi** you off, too.
.
It’s sort of a man’s world. Men overpower,
Run tautly in a panicked frenzy
And something in you tells
Yourself to precipitate with us,
And this
.
Keeps the whole race dancing,
And somewhere along the line,
You look out a window at a steel fence post,
Built by a man.

Total kindness and ease

Means no subterfuge,
But it could mean something even worse,
When you’re used to those miraculous days
Of the pounding snow,
9 inches,
Before you were born.