kneading to want

the want of need
kneads the want
tangibility signifies real
thoughts manifested
steering left and right
guides linear, unless
pulled hard.

It is, maybe, or is it?

no?
not this one…
one,
two,
three,
not it.
if it
was,
it will
be.
you know…
no?

Excuse this beef

what’s the
difference
between
a whore
and
a pig?

species?

excuse
my
beef.

Self vibrate

vibrations reverbate
foreign notes
cultivating doubt
between space

Empathy reveals reality

i can explain,
but no matter what,
you’ll never
completely
understand.
empathy helps
recognize the reality
of an other.

Temperate knowledge

value weighed upon bias scales
cater to misrepresentation.
sit to understand,
and know to do.
angles define
intangible ideals.
feeling encapsulated
of the present,
housed upon fault
of suggestion.

My eyes burn

i think feelings
to which this
experience fumbles.
opinionated facts
mirror misunderstanding.
spoken hearts echo
to another life.borrow what you will,
for all must be
returned.

Feeling thoughts a little misguided

feeling leads as long
as reason permits
decisions made in heated
passion run blind of logic
rational emotion tends
to the paths of disarray
impulsivity agitates
the pond of reflection
corporeal sentiments
need not pay mind
situations dictate
expectations attained
by impartial inference.

We are change of life

imagine life as a cosmic stew of which feeling speaks the only truth. all this talk, all this rationally is nothing without sensory interpretation. the “true” language of being is feeling. if life is but a chemical reaction, how can sensory interpretation be deemed unfit as rational? surely we can quantify precepts, but means cannot encompass the odds and ends. i trudge through a goop traversed by many others, with no more knowledge or understanding than those of “formal” training. we’ve created specific words, although none can contain me. how can we be expected to use a language to speak standards, when we are anything but sameness? We are constantly changing, and will forever be changing, as long as life exists. life is a change otherwise it would be death.

Sold to feel the same in another way

should i be trying for something?
am i trying to be or am i just trying?
creation feels contrived regardless
of my feeling during creating.
i lokk upon what i’ve created
as being stolen, but then again,
who wants to steal shit?
maybe a scatologist?
but i don’t suppose
there are many out there
in search of a shit
i’ve regurgitated.
yes, i’ve puked up shit,
but so have many others.
they just so happen
to market their vomit
as priceless experience.
it’s a damned shame
i’ve fallen for experience
felt in another way.