The Man Who Is Tall Is Happy?

The man who is tall is happy.

Is the man who is tall is happy?

The man who is tall is happy.

Is the man who is tall is happy?

Simple, but not,

naturalized structure

and generation, and burden

of proof is on the state.

The burden of proof

of law, order, proffesional dissertation, facts

and the like.

Sweet and natural,

yet a constant redux,

and eb and flow constant

and layered 

and frequent.

Is the man who is tall happy?

Art for the Sake of Art, Words for the Sake of Words

Unconsciously composed

are the truth, the start

of all great coordinations

and compositions.

Composition for the sake

of itself.

For the sake of

rehearsal, and practice.

Practice for practice

overdue but now and


Make no mistakes

by allowing mistakes.

He who laughs with understands,

he who laughs at

dies alone.


The Battle, The Ballad, and The Girl : Part IV

Well now our lies in the bowels

and rags of the cage.

Malnurished and nothing,

He walks in and out

day in

day out

each for his trials.

Guilty with no remorse, 

and locked away.

Our hero does go,

for now he is at his low.

No love,

No home,

No woman,

and no allie.

Ours does now live with the constant eye

and knife.

He bleeds like christ,

but he does not die.


Our hero


He cares,

He lives, 

He struggles.

Now and forever at these hands and these depths.

He does live on.

Live on and strive and so for another hour

on another day.

Yet, no night did pass when she did not come to mind.

And with every muscle and fiber,

he did his best to hold back the tears.

The Ballad, The Battle, and the Girl : Prelude

And so now it begins, 

a constant angry

and extensive rank and scroll

of rage and charge.

So of always used words and wards.

Heart and soul 

and every poetic truth and cliche.

So cruel in its delivery

So Sweet in reward.

Yet as is and as always,

so uninsightful

yet so.

Shine and mare in bath and baited.

Curious is the fantasy’s truth

and twisted in celebrity and power.

Charged and blocked of the like,

Idiotic in distraction,

blind in rage.

So deaf, so blind in where and what 

and how it was lost.

By the matters of the lost and loss,

and of no more.

A make up so corrupt.

Loves accident

so avoidable,

So of these goddamned poetic constants

of cliche anguish.

What a love and lust and drive did live.

What, and nobody.

Gone and dwelled.

What a sweet divine,

such an ache of joy and the like

and listened listlessly through time.

Sit now, and bare to this tale of the latter rambles.

A tale so of no tale at all

of that of a vicious and joyous and loving 

and the like.

All about so as and as once again same.

A tale so heard before yet

told or scribed.

So please, sit and bare this story

of the inhibitions, of the lustful joys

of woe.

Damned Be Surrender

Damned be our surrender

and rest our treaties.

Peak in the words of your own

and in dignity.

What humble treats are these,

What soft words they be.

Soft which to be heard,

and fallen

on one knee.