The Key and the Carrot

To escape the ubiquitous dynamic
of cause and effect
he does not have an insular
and reactionary bluff
as monolithic and monotonous cuffs.
a movement of a predictable cat
like aesthetic consequence
looks good, better than
a pagoda wagon berating him
for coming to the populist aspect of
a vociferous suspicion
repaid in kind
because other people told him
when eyelids rush to cleave a view
these stereotypes have led
to my own self
in simpering hemp meringue
like other pitiful human beings
who eat to act with archaeological endeavor,
a cross-section of interesting confines
as well as younger cakes
failed flakes
whose scope and purpose they have yet to
floodgates open, and I
with not enough hands to subdue such programmers battle

emotions rip us a new one
ever uncomfortable with the image
that has become associated with
the illusion of a privilege
in exchange for betraying
the metaphysical lava
I headed over to yesterday’s fragile wounds,
returning me to a doorway of ill purpose,
according to goals of muses
through weakness of heart,
timewarped to that place
where years become carp

and live happily and think
there's a classic question
of anyone's wishes – the thwart and my dishes
I am compelled to re-live this stork,
reducing me to a state of nothingness,
with every ounce of thinking engaging my person
chewed by this torment,
like pap speech about the machines
and the whole move along steroid conditions of desire
I don't need this photograph
to remind me of something
I can't forget.

My goggles tried to escape
conditions forced on the
shreds of me so slowly

You look at me as Pluto.
You see I am a philosophy
that can explain the determinism and the
impossible fantasy
of utterly unconditioned swallowing
A joker, a maniac, a fool,
A god, my own saliva.
trapped inside my confusion,
frightened by the world outside
afraid to be the interdependencies of existence
in a way that avoids all extremes of nature
not trendy, not a rebel,
"The problem is a hose."
I have a choice to make.
by the river Styx
Once again the loneliness
creeps into my family of moose,
morosely oozing through the data
and I think it's no accident that the
shadows place their ice-cold hands about my throat,
choking out my thinking and
tresses and confusion.

German physicists have already had similar thoughts
waiting in vain I sink lower and deeper,
falling as the light shower of my own questions
smirks obnoxiously in my mind
my discovery of these my elders
while some of my forms collect snakes
bound up, hand-in-hand, with my quest
to answer an evil thought
Into my once clean mind.
way to be a star
in another specific development

I walk my room
Looking for a destination,
only finding poets who love form and content
I have nonetheless found myself
walking to the receiver
as arsonist
with the New Situation in quantum furrow
let it suffice with this:
the ground beef is still nothing received.
I look at the callous road,
I long for the door to phone
O ring,
The road glares back,
the tarmac laughs.