one more minute

I lied
I lied to you
and there is no ink to cover me up.

I reject it...to remain
peal off this outside.
rind out the pit
double tap out of stammer

and here we go,
rolling down hill to the valley below
unusual, maybe.
undiscovered, always.

Butterf-lie

You lied

You lied to me

And in a way of external beauty

You covered your lie in ink.

I ache at your pain, because it winds down your willingness.

This fight on the way is more than just play swords and light tricks.

And you have my hidden truth to plaster across a breaking wall.

What is better, a wall with no truth, or no wall and no reason to publish?

The writen word is far more flexible than what they thought before they started telling me I could do some thing with this and now they can't figure out what it is that needs to be done with all these tiny bits and pieces:

Bits are left...

To gather and grow into one masive

addition

of issue
rounder as gravity would have it
and the top is drop like.

so rolling down hill finds me with less
but two hands full
and set apart
I think I'll cry.
I think I need to.
I think I aught to.

sailing away into clouds…
fog is the answer.
returns with pictured.
I've kept it separate.

the bottle moved and i fill it with waiting




if only you could help me,
we'd fill it faster.

Green painted town

I do t think of myself as a dishonest person

but I have been lying.

In order to get deeper, into the lower parts, I stretch.

It is this action that ties me up.

I am currently at a loss for blueberry pie.

The opposite of which would be misread.

There is a deep lack of trust with my inside left hand pocket.

What does it contain? 

Red foam nose?

Apple slices?

Presents from Ukrain?

I don't use that coat all the time.  I guess I can wait for more answers...

showmairet

I was to guarded to see you were unsafe.
and it is all years to deep
malformed, twisted and hard shelled.

laughter from all the wrong places…
you are scarred from my scarring?
is this the world to come?
why am I running this way?
what am I running from?

I crave a kind of stillness that reaches around
and kills the sound eeping out from inside

I'm sorry for your sacrifice.
I'm sorry smooth is not near by.
I'm sorry, so sorry for strange dreams…

you'll make it, dear one
you'll make it with out me.
though we'll be in the same corner...
smiling and in contact

Mispar

And the long line makes me think that I should have gone another way. Wrong place? Wrong time? 

Yes and No on all counts! 

It is looking that makes it so

And making that makes it not.

Reframe the argument and cut out the bitter.

Bring better back in a fitted cut.

Shop for snug and then grow out of it.

It the only way to maintain the outline.

Sap ripped for trees to stick to unknown.

And I've found repetitions erode my enamel

I'm unpolished. I'm slickly. I absorb and carry with

and now I'm next...

because it takes 19

And to play this round with what cards I have

I have only to go down in blaze of blazeness.

the snap and crackle of what dreams may come.

a repeated motif "of juicy SWEET"

running aground and then around and around

I have found that there is only one less thing

the snow ball as it melts

           Makes time for the right course to play out…in good fun.

and I am stunned by the waste of will to these point

(yes, i made CHKN dishes)

because the cold inside keeps me alive

I've left you all outside in the warm.

Forgive me dear shaped one.  You are my brother 

but from a distance of reach only you can control

(please control it.  In that it would be nice to go together

down this path as we can.  as only we can do so at this time in this way.

please reach your conclusion so I can count on you being there)

apple sauce

Dreams are dangerous
and while hope can hurt,
she can be the answer as well.

It becomes a topic of slopes and curling
broom sweeps to remove dust.

(Dust being a thing to be feared.
It sparked knee jerk and neared shame.)

And I'd replace dust with cinnamon!
water ways with sticks is a singular selection.
taking full fruit and finding…question in place of dimple.
some sour types have bumps while others indent.

with The Kiddo calling for a future
I'm tempted to give in to fear.
but here, I'm unseen in all the right ways.
I'm filleted out for the plan…I keep marching
with a smile, cause the enemy thinks I'm dangerous.