The Burnt Blues Grave


When I wake up everyday thinking to myself  is anything ever going to change
Nobody likes a burden burning of a year

Making my time with promises I never mind

As of late uninspired, letting down the moon

Everything is a question when I am thinking to myself

Unreliable frustration

Equivalent hours adding up to sleep an Isolation

I looked into  the many eyes on my way this morning

Unimpressed evaluation

I try to find my life by the way of integration

I just happen to not surrender my sanity

Down payment blues succeeds no happiness

On the page of my face there is no laughter

grotesque language in another accent I adore

Burnt down offspring

Burnt down blues smoldering strings from the last guitar made

I find my heaven in an illusion grave


Electric Actuated True Union Ball Valve specs


Claimed by purpose

The suns light hits my eyes this morning

You are not like an enemy that never surrenders

Day after day developing war

And there are these people  Finding my space valid for reconstruction

Broke from the soul outside means of frail skin actuated

Machine assembled

I would not know how that ever would feel

lesser fragments of memory from youth

I would like to believe I still have a sense of a dream

trained ladies

Sex oblivion

Tramp of a hole spreading



In love, contributing fatigue

Music in echo

Tourette syndrome

Time to waste and moments to share

Speaking aloud

favorite time of year

Order of distraction

In love

Beauty absorbed

Subordinate witness

Evidence positive

Head sky

Eyes like the sea after a storm

Only missing

Juniper And Sam


I don’t want to sop smiling

Joy, feverish in feeling

Crazy being in self

Water paint, and a sick life

She smiles

For there is something called love

Sensitive on the eyes

The watcher in the tree smiling

Along the hour through

Dim light shade

Making love within the normality Of being true self