Sweet Insane OR Bloody Hurts
Soft Wind Can Stir A Poem
Manic words spit on fate
I pee colorlessly in a dirty sink
I steal sickness
I am real soft on Oct. 3, 1947
I am a kiss with a happy ending
Mark a separation
Pick up silent leaves
Play on edge
I take my body home
Any of several elements
I am no longer effective
Let it DIE
I laugh when I want to cry
Not crazy enough
A sharp instrument
I wait a minute
I am not going to use myself
A sheet filled with orange juice
Chronic masturbation
My basic half
Assemble incurable wounds
Madden us to slaughter
We drunkenly watch the happiness of our contracts
His consciousness contains a mirror
Fly when the sky is red and the heaven is blue
A fury brown noun
Shall we hastily or leisurely talk a little
You cried "I suppose so"
Yet hours are minutes
Why not get ready for some eating and kissing
Prepare for a captivating game
I cause clear skies
Lightness, Chance or Coincidence
Pain is pain, Pain is not pain, Pain is pain
The question of pain is obscurely never far off
New shoes hurt most
If you want nothing, you fear nothing and need nothing
