Do you think that,
Not like you personally,
but in general that messages sent to,
That ominous OTHER box,
could ever turn out any other way than,
bad and bat-*** crazy?

Or may it be like,
how fire fighters fight like mad,
protecting a city's common good,
but not the clogged engine,
encased in stretchy sweaty, porous skin,
in their own ribbed hood.

I mean, that such messages attempt to do some effect,
outside their case or jurisdiction,
on some external situation,
but really start to burn up the insides,
of a being, and lead to puke fire from the heart.
like starting good intentionally, for a moment,and ending in a hospital.

All this is to say that,
that's been what I've been doing,
only with people whose name only I know,
And so far it is going nowhere,
this selling of anywhere meetings,
And I can't help but feel like i am going into the land of internet creeplings.

So deceiving the internet is,
A million plans and opportunities at one pages creasings,
but deceased are any real plans,
but I don't want to plan anymore no ever,
because the greater number, and indeed however many takes,
The real mistake is believing that plans address a lack of spontaneity.

I am finding that they don't, at all.

////////////////////////


You know Cody Chalmers,
and he is my friend,
but I have no idea at all,
Who you are.
So I am a random guy,
writing you a random-*** message,
yo,
so that you know how low I'm or can go.
If you knew me. But-
you don't... so isn't that grand?
you can pardon my craziness,
and weirdness right outta hand.
But then again, you don't
have a clue, how I relate to you.
But don't even think about it,
because I really don't in any way whatsoever either.
Still, I am down,
to be down in whatever way,
FULLY, for just sitting,
or staring, or drawing or chatting.
I am wanting to be alone in every way.
every single day, see?
and since I can't seem to be like that,
then down-pat I want to be around people that don't know me,
then it is almost the same thing.
God, you feel it?

//////////////////////////////

Damn,
there was a time when it mattered,
But it still does matter,
even though I am the only one that digests,
what my words apparently color as digress,
and appear to show, what ever it is that you do not know,
though, as you never read these words, anymore...

So I am a loner, in that sense,
And also, in the way that I want to write these words,
twisted, gnarled illogical ramblings,
even in the absence of hope of reply,
Oh why, tired will, can't you sit still,
and stir the chasm of an empty past,
of silly talks bygone, past like a short, homely western song?

Even your "nopes" are discontinued,
Off of the production line,
No longer signed in I love yous,
but I am past that somehow,
and though you may die a thousand deaths a day,
and be an island without wants,
I still talk without praying for a return volley.

The need is not there, but the illusion screens real,
and as ever strong it held sway, nay to this day it blows,
a tarp that keeps the moisture and bitter cold,
away from my mind when it traces the days of old.
Yes, it was fake, but I am yet to celebrate,
its total cessation, because that would mean only,
That I am dead.

You may not respond,
but the weaves of a yarn,
once cast will stay out in the field for a while,
and though you may tire,
of clearing your inbox of messages you never read,
I cast my seed without worrying about soil fertility,
I don't care if you chose not to fruit it.

I enjoyed these...

Thank you very much miss!