TWELF

°.•

This is morticide
For your mind
That’s been what I’m about:
Killin death
Billed it’s next
Of nap kin, but wiped it out -

Taken, plus the spent clips
Crime scene
Wiped clean
Revelation ten six:
Time peace -
Bright links..

I’m about flow, so
I’m about oh.. zone
Since about ‘03
Been about to OD..

°.•

Time waits for no man
Time space is flow land
Time chases flow’s sand
Time waits for flow’s hand..

Think about it: Time is dead
Ink around it: Rhyme is read
Eyelids
Are violet
Blink about what eyes have said..

°.•

High worship is the worth you see
It’s what seems prevalent
My purpose is To Murder Things
With Extreme Excellence..

°.•

Why turn belief to certainty?
Live a dream’s testament
My purpose is To Murder Things
With Extreme Excellence..

Truth’s optometry
Is Ruthless Honesty
A few less apologies
Accused men ought to speak

To regret, not to peace
Move, yet not to flee
Toothless dogs I treat
To bootleg Halloweens..

All the power’s on
Box and cable in a circuit
Thought’s a crown from God
Watch: Patience is what’s perfect..

Followin a crowd, if not
Fatal, then just worship
Swallowin it down, but not
The snake when just dessert - it’s..

Certainly I’m ruthless
First degree, the proof is
Verdict - I refused it
Jury hung to prove it..

Tourniquet for rule’s wrist
Learn to quit, or lose grip
Mercy, if for fools, is
My personal amusement..

Excellence: The excrement
Of joy but cannot void it
Never let a better thing
Avoided cancel joy then..

°.•

To flow is perfection
Who knows it’s direction?
Who grows? It’s the evidence
To flow isn’t leather then..

°.•

If alive, equal this
With a prize - equals gift
Home is not abandoned
Flow is automatic..

To try is to trip
The why is a whip
Alive is a trip:
Just a ride in the whip..

What you see is what you get
But to be is just to let
What is seen - you just expect
What’s a dream, but trust in bed..

°.•

Still here? Still alive!
Still ears fill the mind
What am I? Only gift
Otherwise, don’t exist..

Therefore, since alive
There’s more of it inside
Filled with the flow of life
Still livin? Shown the light..

Still beacon for the eyes
Still breathin? You’re a signed
Post-it-note
Full of flow
Still the reason you’re alive..

As such
That must
Mean there is more to flow
Lil huevos?
Still able!
Means clearly: Born to grow..

°.•

This is a different
Type of site
Within it is an infinite
Type of sight..

Which isn’t intellect’s
Light, but like
Gifts from a dinner guest
Might excite..

I do not know
I, through a flow
Express
What is left
To my eye when it’s closed..

In infinite darkness
A miniature spark gets
Magnified
Candle light
Which isn’t discarded..

Poetry is structure
A strict limitation
But growth can erupt there
Within it innovation..

By means of it’s limits
A dream has a rigid
Form
But it’s born
To be seen, that condition

Permits the observation
Of invisible
Visuals
With their contemplation
Wisdom’s condensation..

For infinite flow
Before given prose
Is amorphous
Of course it’s
Form isn’t known..

Reality is poetry
Poetry’s a fantasy
Fantasy will close to me
Knowing what is happening..

Thoughts limit shapes
The “law” is the paint
A flaw to explain
What is God to a brain?

Without a limitation
On how I fill these pages
You’d drown in information
Soundless as your grave drifts..

No mandible
I’d ramble still
On and on forever
Like God if he had never
Saw what he had said first..

This way I condense it
This way lo comprendes
(Spanish:
Understand it)
This way flow directs it

And adds a little flavor
That has a million neighbors
And that means
As seen
Grasped in different layers..

Just like reality:
What eyes grab to be
Quick to see
Isn’t seen:
Just a mind imagining..

Boundless creativity
Found a shape for it to be
“Outside the box”
Lies a thought’s
Fate: Adrift at sea..

In the outer darkness
And not the seat of light
Power is an artist’s
Quality of sight..

Infinite possibility
Given a solid entity
To represent
Best a cen-
tillionth of all divinity..

Me? I’m just an instrument
Maybe a flugelhorn
You will see what isn’t meant
Favoring uniforms..

°.•

What help to fate
Is calculate?
Shall we date?
Who tells it straight?

Me?
Am I free
If I see
Just a seed

Of the tree
That will be
But I eat
Up the seed?

But I need
Not rely
On my eye
Socket lies

Cuz the seed
Once released
Under deep
Clumps of peat

Moss tossed:
Holocaust?
Holiday!
On its way!

So is flow:
Boldly go
No control
Though below

Know it grows
Full of hope
Open scope
Though I don’t

Have it’s angle
Thankful
It’s faithful
The bankroll

That makes no
Debtors
But the clever
Whom fate owes..

°.•

The warrior’s mind
Is born at night
Or it dies
Before the fight

Rewarding lies
Abhors the light
As morning’s might
Torments the night..

And so I use
A flow with tools
To open views
From broken tombs

Like open wounds
That close by noon
Then show the moon
It’s own - exhumed..

I only muse
In overviews
Cuz scrolls of “proof”
Are overused

To show what you
Could only prove
If told by roots
That grow in you..

°.•

Readers love to comment
But leave em under content?
It’s litter cuz
Litterbugs
Feed, then dump their boxes..

Then piss behind a tree
When bigger minds than these
Fill my “target audience”
Really, art is all it is..

Imagine, if you will
A canvas mixed with skill
That hangs in a museum
After payin then you see one..

You won’t expect to find
A phony left behind
(I’m not naive, but..
Got idea?)
Gogh Van Vincent, signed..

Nor down beneath is each piece
Surrounded by graffiti
“I was here”
Guys in gear
Would pound the guy and beat him..

“I was here”
Minds are weird
Comments seek approval
Validation:
That’s the way that
Common people use it..

Visitors
Are insecure:
You get upon reflection
What isn’t pure
With the urge
To check the comment section..

You came to read
What came from me
What other people think:
Who gives a sh-t?
Live a bit:
Just f—kin read - then.. think!

°.•

I’m Paul
Why not?
Rhyme’s all
I talk..

I actually hate poetry
And generally
Everything
I like to do
Sighted thru
That which creates scopes for me..

Scratch is key, with no debris
To build it from -
The will of one
Scratched a key: It molded me
To tumblers
Not to jugglers..

Other artists:
Just the carpet
I don’t follow
Not a fan
“Was it garbage?”
Just some varnish
Fine old block, tho
Got to sand..

To Paul it’s sure to taint if
You polyurethaned it
All the work to stain is
An awful swirl, “Just paint it!”

Yeah, I don’t think so
I don’t think that way
Fads - I don’t speak clone
I won’t sing and play

Along with a hymnal
“What’s wrong?” If a pistol
Is palmed, but it clicks tho
What’s wrong? Is the clip full?

Cartridges
The artist gives
Or.. a blank
For a “Bang!”
(Marketin
Department sh-t)
More the same?
Bored insane..

°.•

That was quite a lot
That was right, but not:
Words said
In verb’s head:
Action might concoct..

When it’s said
It’s never red
The way the pen is blue
Whatever’s said
Is better read
The way a feather blew..

°.•

Art is such
An armored truck
Guard it, but
From inside that

Heart is what
Is guarded: Trust
If dark, it was
The inside man..

°.•

Thank you for your time
I gave you more for mine
Pay it forward - shine too
I lay the floor.. behind you..

**paul 2.0