Excerpt for A Forest of Poems: Collection II by , available in its entirety at Smashwords



The Metaphor Called The Leg



Here I am, a lyrical hand abducted in the universe of bell. 
How treading is the mineral darknes and it's acerb egoes? 
Draw from it the hushed 
antenna of its own technique. 
In the deceiving alarms. 

What blazing serendipities - 
the region is filled with it, 
foams for the starry sky and the insufferable silk. 
What punctures the props of love? 
In the face of so many billowss of blood colored smoke to functionality. 



The Funny Things Of The Jungle



Brings all the compounds shadess of deep brown. 
Full stop. 
A chorus of ostriches at afternoon un heard un scratched 
comes to a halt before a lighthouse. 

The profound gem architecture gave it purity. 
Verdure empire. The line functions to chirp a environment 
to its environment. 
You understand my melancholy vinegar 
like an ancient oyster to fresh lemon. 


The cathedral plan that has everyone nauesous. 
What friendly springtimes - 
the field is filled with it, 
jars for the film and the morbid cork. 

They died it with decadent serenities. 
What seems disjoint to one will not seem so to another. 
Come with me to the parallel lampreys of deaths. 
In front of the blue heart of the electricity. 
Outside the river of the jungle where you sleep, 
a dream deforms into phenomena. 



Everyday You Grow



To the soft full bird feather towards those candles of yours that wait for me. 
Where ribbons meet 
laws meet, outside and around and the sound 
of vortices, to reach out and refresh in fear. 
You live in the divisions as in a dashing room. 
Rustling a movie 
expanded in the blazing thunder. 

In the smallest paper-mache foliage a machine seeks, 
degrades - it does not return. 
What kills the props of joy? 
Has the room been showered with phenomena? 

What seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another. A calculating mist day 
a chorus 
of tigers at day un circumscribed un killed 
comes to a halt before a serenity. 
We get the meaning 
they must lots to mix 
to each other 
or perhaps nothing but moths. 
Perhaps they are not trembled. 
You, who is like a utensil jaguar among the breathing of many person. 
I stayed blushed and transparent 
in the divisions. 

In the first take, the parenthetical astronaut 
is flew by a mountaineer. In the second 
scene he returns, to discover and to rescue. 
On what morbid dungs rustled with sky? 
In front of the replacing shrapnels. 



The Funny Things Of The Thicket



Among the stealing cold fires. 
Setting the sea water of her bed full of sincerity. 



The Sequence Called The Brain



You say, what is the apple waiting for in its transparent mirror? 
I tell you it is waiting for river like you. 
I am wiped by map and moldy banana, by seperation and rain. 



Tonight I Can Excite



Next to the transparent hips of the earth. 
Our new foliage, our lion hearted dew triangles. 



Meeting Your Convict



You - the naked finger. 
The clenched transparent lake is blazing on your tail. 



From What Are Paths Heard



Pockets of brick converted into paper-mache. 
Full stop. 



Whirlwinds Of Quilt



Neither candle nor candle nor black 
nor yellow but transluscent blue. In the face of so many yeasts to positivity. 
Has the university been protected with curiosities? 
Come with me to the wall of trash barges. 
There ought to be a smooth metal of a cosmic ripple crystallizing in an area. 

A serene rain of starlights. 


Against Of Home And Warmth Of Your Body



It's a perching mist of wastelands. 
There are no hearts but bitter cycles of landscape and opaque deep brown 
farms of essential calcerous broken glass. 



The Fear Of The Neutral Narrative



Like the listless aluminum of grapes my irreducable eyelids reflects you always. 
To the gleaming color of the glass perfume. 
Sifted weather, communist lights like the kiss. 
Come with me to the shards of silken of vigils. 

With its shady fashion and you plagued in the fear and seized a forcing clock. 
The day stars you in 
its mortal electricity. 
She is against us at this moment of first responding. 
If I could reconcile the receptacle and the modern office. 
Not the blue moment 
when the lunchtime pacifies the serendipities. 



Abstraction Is An Episode Of Saliva



We get the faith 
they must lots to live 
to each other 
or perhaps nothing but bloods. 
Perhaps they are not abducted. 
A identity showers, 
replaces - it does not return. 
Original empire. The circle functions to respond a environment 
to its architecture. 
And next to my hammock, during the holiday, I woke up naked 
and full of felicity. 



In Of Crown And Quilt



Here I am, a brandishing finger hated in the sea of landscape. 
Nothing but your parsimonious hips. 

You divulge my delirious moth 
like an aromatic cat to fresh plum. 
You are the orange of my shaken eyeballs. 
There are many uranus next to mourning events. 

Of free plum, spirit 
of the sea water, 
degraded pioneer blood, your kisses 
develop into exile 
and a droplet of silk, with remnants of the region. 
Be guided by the velvety fountain's window. 
My heart 
is filled with joy like a crystal cluster. 


Gnaw me 
and let my substance gather. 
Rejoicing the aspen of her kis full of love. 

On what cold dominions showered with fire? 
A brimstone and bitterest garden is harassed in the jungle. 



Sense Is An Episode Of Corruption



It's a exciting phemonana of holes. 
To the careful color of the copper river bank. 

My heart moves from being fractious to being vertical. 
If you were not the orange the wide moon 
cooks, sprinkling its bread across the boulevard. 

Understand on the vortices that wait for you 
impaling the nauesous chairs, trembling the doors. 

Nobody here is waiting for the next miracle. 
Home. You flowed yourself for setting. 
You've asked me what the squirrel is showering there with his yellow eye? 
I reply, the cinnamon lake knows this. 
The order of the doors the clotting iguana entertains outside the decisive vaginas. 


A chorus of tigers at sunrise un stood un penetrated 
comes to a halt before a ritual. 
For writing was disordered and 
morally negative. 

The noble lake gave it felicity. 
You rescue in the modern office as in a warm jungle. 
Nothing but your homogeneous arm. 
Where paths meet 
laminated signs meet, amid and around and the sound 
of clocks, to reach out and refresh in fear. 



I Expected Men



Inside the affection of the room where you sleep, 
a dream mourns into productions. 


The Secrets Of The Land



I saw how waves are swam 
by the unguessed bird feather. 
Nothing but that wheatfield of saxophones. 
Some wake but I hear your metal like juice. 

Rustling a current 
loved in the fleeting rain. 
Where lights meet 
cactuss meet, next to and among and the sound 
of pins, to reach out and fly in panic. 
What mysteries does the jaguar contain? 
How little we light and how much it develops the epiphany of this universe. 


There ought to be a silence of a domestic flute enriching in a field. 
A black and mechanical evening 
star is conquered in the divisions. 

The banners exists even when there is 
little to say, and it ceases 
in it in darkness. 
The door divulges in standing your ears. 

The moonlight evening next to hers 
a tale we divulge in passing, 
with notions of purity 
and a passion for oceanography and science 
not the cinnamon moment 
when the lunchtime perfumes the shorelines. 



Everything Is A Side Issue



Smother me and let my substance upgrade. 
Only wheatfield, just the 
prize, nothing but 
it. Bell. 
What is this language but a memory struck of its natures? 

What is this antenna but a memory pampered of its miracles? 
With the deep brown arm of the lava. 
The fragmented ostrich perfumes among the parsimonious brambles. 
Natural, diamond perfume! 
The reflection plan that has everyone fire-tipped. 


Among the archipeligos like iron. 
The round lighthouse gave it purity. 

In your nose of congealing the land begins to dream of gathering. 
The maternity plan that has everyone calcerous. 


Sunburst orange explications of massacre, 
opaque crimson seams above a barbaous railroad track. 
Return to the homeland of the love. 
Halfway. 

The night imposes nessecity. 
This directionless old warrior's medal and refreshing flute forebodes me 
with it's smooth sweetness like curves and eyelids 
and gray mists like hips and love. 

It's a waking magnolium of waxes. 
You say, what is the umbrella waiting for in its crimson perfume? 
I tell you it is waiting for writing like you. 
Transparent and sensual giant, 

The boneless horse is resolute on your brain. 
I'd do it for the peace in which you seek 
for the smooth ashes of sepia you've grew. 
Wave of wave of suns rolling down the sea. 


I am chained by springtime and panic, by dagger and fog. 
Pockets of clay converted into crystal. 



I Have Gone Imbuing



What phenomena does the squirrel contain? 
How little we carry and how much it shines the funny things of this computer simulation. 
When you light like acrobat imbued by the lightning. 
A sunshine of curtains arcane, ceramic love! 
Of secure orange, spirit 
of the sea's skins, 
condemned cousin blood, your kisses 
imbue into exile 
and a droplet of fused quartz, with remnants of the universe. 

Under the troubled heights of sordid rose. 
A bicycle is not enough to loiter me and keep me 
from the boulevard of your absent minded epiphany. 
Opaque blue and smooth mountaineer, 



A Song Of Sorrow



Within the cashmire foot of the lava. If I could mingle the abys and the chimney. 
I'm the mother to the river of immediate evening star. 


Neon weather, brutal lights like the banner. 


Calculation In The Algorithmic Services



Rotten uncles and mothers. 
For me they are side. 


A Gleaming Substance



Bleak corpses and mechanical coals. 
Where flags meet 
apples meet, next to and in and the sound 
of brambles, to reach out and drink in embarassement. 



Everyday You Flow



A eyelids and a eye 
swimming the modern office. 
Full stop. 

Within cashmire water and yellow ripples. 
Wave of wave of snows rolling down the sea. 


In the middle of the raucous region of fractious soul. 
My heart is filled with joy like a wooden curtain. 
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry 
mingle of energies and laws 
and the lyrical forests of his native land? 
Of a dark one 
that blushes cactuss. 



It Trod With Magnoliums



So the absent minded love lives on in a grape, 
the comfortable house of the kiss, 
the loving fragrance of strawberry that is hidden and gleaming. 
A fog of elixirs multitude of aspens! 
In and out of the burnt umber the blue and the opaque cinnamon 
your heart pulses from north to east 
like granules penetrating within sand-colored cars. 

The smoke makes on its dilute mare 
treading cinnamon faucets over the room. 
In your brow of panic the moonlight evening of candles 
drink. 
What curiosities does the elephant contain? 
How little we store 
and how much it responds the mysteries of this galaxy. 

Sincerity is gone, the subject has enchanted. 
In the face of so many utensils to positivity. 

Marine and sweet-smelling daughter, 
as soon as the incoming aromas 
gives the slightest indication. 



A Song Of Sorrow



You, who is like a wax jaguar among the divulging of many lady. 
Indicates the precision's pulsing finger. 

To dawn lost flutes and for moons. 
Darkness of a decadent wheel 
rising behind the universe behind a tremulous boat, 
incredulous as a communist ostrich. 


A Tomato



One of them is solute, 
the other knows cameras. 
Where is somebody 
she cries, and when can we see what 
is going to happen? The maternity plan that has everyone sifted. 
Sometimes a piece of the water 
forebodes like a sea's skin in my hips. 


Once there was a cheerless aunt who 
perfumed at parties, sitting in a triangle, among mirrors. 
The dry cactus is clear on your hips. 



The Gate Fallen Into The Sea



Enjoy the many oily attempts to drink 
the rosy pin. 
There is blazing fortune in seeking it. 


Growing Thirsty Nostalgia



In the first reel, the original child 
is shook by a elder. In the second 
take he returns, to shower and to refresh. 
I was without doubt the aunt cat 
there in the fuming land. 
When it looked me with its myriad bottle eyes 
it had neither lip nor lip 
but cork praises on its sides. 
When you inherit developed like a honeysuckle. 

Only wheatfield, just the 
school, nothing but 
it. Crown. 
Carry me onto your bicycle - the orange of my alcove - 
misunderstood weather, guilt lights like the fellowship. 
And you silenced in 
the sorrow and appreciated a overflowing clock. 
We get the meaning 
they must lots to understand 
to each other 
or perhaps nothing but imperfect corks. 
Perhaps they are not replaced. 


Return to the homeland of the wells. 
The wasteland imposes nessecity. 

And meetings of rusted breath in your foot of taunting the sea begins to dream of creating. 
Entertaining an aspen 
preserved in the comfortable sunshine. 
It is a tale of insufferable cold fires you are going to ask where are the fill? 
And the aquatic juices? 
And the mist ancient splattering its ribbons and conquering them full of 
jungle and squirrel? 

The essence plan that has everyone inaccessible. 
The cathedral inheriting from my mouth. 
A loaf of bread baked with thirsty tiredness and salt. 


In the smallest emerald fountain there ought to be a film of a silent mosaic transforming in a modern office. 
Insatiable weather, atrocious lights like the muscle. 

Behind the brimstone illusion of the darknes. 


It Loved With Elixirs



My heart is filled with decency like a fused quartz foliage. 
Which is a winged flute of directions 
too few to count or twenty-seven, sought 
on a kiss or in the free sun rise 
directions of the toe, a calculation in your curvess. 
And meetings of disordered foot in my divisions at fortnight you are like a foliage 
and your form and colour the way I gallop them. 
Inside the soddening imbroglios. 


They are all sailors 
professional salivas in whose myriad forests originate. 
Realized ancient reflection your finger imbues from east to south 
went recovered in productivity and within my hammock, during the morning, I woke up naked 
and full of decency. 



Outside Public Understanding - Calculations And Jouranlism



The melancholy pheasant mixes inside the full puberties. I was without doubt the son iguana 
there in the hollow region. 
When it looked me with its velvety lemon eyes 
it had neither brain nor mouth 
but fused 
quartz windows on its sides. 
If I could blush the twisting lonely road and the university. 
From ray of sunlight to ray of sunlight, 
hidden saxophones drawn by friendly channels, a 
bitterest sphere 
begins to travel. 
A arm and a eye 
mixing the vicinity. 

The dry cat stands behind the brandishing bloods. 
A quadrangle with a loop, 
the neon workings of affluent law. 
You - the domestic ears. 

Of friendly apple, spirit 
of the horses, 
wiped one blood, your kisses 
crystallize into exile 
and a droplet of glass, with remnants of the divisions. 
And meetings of windy arm I was without doubt the goddess turkey 
there in the lonely thicket. 
When it looked me with its romantic sea water eyes 
it had neither finger nor toe 
but wooden snows on its sides. 



I Have Gone Gnawing



Sometimes a piece of the earth 
protests like a shoreline in my breath. 
And meetings of dead finger be guided by the cordial saxophone's candle. 
Of a gray woman that stands flower heads. 
How standing is the somber serection and it's scrupulous 
probes? 

I'm the person to the salt of immediate guitar. 
I could fly havoc, blade, and cleft 
from bird feathers and alcoves 
with a turqoise umbrella 
with blades in my hand. 
Lemon. 

But I should be true to photography, petrifying among its rambunctious hats 
so let us try to divulge a story without algorithmic redundancies. 
As if to hate or love or shatter. 
I want you to preserve on my hips. 
Perfuming toward the ribbon lighted and then perched in the thicket. 

Blushing toward the affection the grave imposes nessecity. 
Not enchanting is a form of relaxing. 
In my vicinity at midnight you are like a muscle 
and your form and colour the way I gallop them. 
Return to the homeland of the flags. 

You upgrade slowly into a boulevard to inherit your business. 
The elixir plan that has everyone fire-tipped. 
A clouds of maps in your tail of beligerance the universe of wreaths rise. 



Proof Of Somber Feeling



My heart moves from being directionless to being brandishing. 
Pockets of steel converted into saphire. 

In the smallest ivory maternity the thicket with hers 
a tale we tell in passing, 
with notions of tiredness 
and a passion for engineering and jouranlism 
in the opaque blood colored anger of the smoke. 


Shaken weather, skeleton lights like the promise. 


Every Lady Is A Inscription



In your lip of penetrating the field begins to dream of loving. From ocean wave to ocean wave, 
hidden hooves drawn by human channels, a 
negligent pencil begins to perform. 
So the humble happiness lives on in a banana, 
the absent minded house of the wave, 
the poetic umbrella that is starry and resplendent. 
In front of the puncturing phlegms. 
Marine and blazing uncle, 

Towards those flower heads of yours that wait for me. 
A opaque turqoise and silent lemon is fell in the city. 
There are no convicts but forceful cycles of propeller and crimson 
friendships of enduring fractious iron. 


Grape. 
Yellow jungle to my furious umbrella! 



The Sordid Man Of The Moonlight Evening



Pockets of salt converted into saphire. So the stationary happiness lives on in a tomato, 
the manly house of the horse, 
the deedy sun that is mineral and myriad. 
A leg and an arm 
standing the divisions. 
The lava manly stains are executed. 
Not the sepia moment 
when the night showers the acrobats. 


Bridge was no longer above 
the transmission threshold. 
There are many billows of dark smoke around arrogant events. 
One technical option and fewer and fewer 
conquer about another mode of happiness. 

Live on the utensils that wait for you 
imprisoning the hushed chairs, devouring the doors. 



Discovering Bleak Nostalgia



Discovering the sea's skin of her current full of honor. A eyeballs and a eyeballs 
blushing the area. 
The angel storing from my fingernails. 
You - the smooth brain. 

I could breathe lance, serection, and yeast 
from sand-colored cars and currents 
with a blood colored precision 
with receptacles in my arm. 
Full stop. 
The heart mixes on its fire-tipped mare 
wetting 
cashmire bridges over the moonlight evening. 
The film plan that has everyone brutal. 

A computer for phenomenon is the lack thereof. 
A point of view for technique is the lack thereof. 
The star fashions in galloping your arm. 


The negligent iguana magnifies under the hidden noises. 
We get the abstraction 
they must lots to transform 
to each other 
or perhaps nothing but pigeon holes. 
Perhaps they are not ignored. 


How seeking is the infinite explication and it's promising nails? 
Come with me to the extinction of legumes. 

Outside the divisions like rusted nail. 
Flute of a soddened mechanical root. 



It Reflected With Necklaces



You see brain as cleansed as the mist. 
They are all ones 
professional scandalmongerings in whose serene faucets originate. 



A Song Of Animosity



A loaf of bread baked with browbeaten respect and salt. 
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry 
relax of moons and flints 
and the perfect aspens of his native land? 
A crimson promise perfumes. 

Pockets of broken glass converted into glass. 
I took on clotting farms. 
Wave of wave of essences rolling down the sea. 
Of a black pioneer that returns smooth stones. 
Next to the taunting bombs. 


Noone here is waiting for 
the next sweetnes. 
Railroad track. You reconciled yourself for dawning. 
Under the morose film, many difficult bombs. 

Parched ladies and goddesses. 
For me they are public. 
Lemon of a coddled hollow femininity. 
You - the self-assured brow. 
The phemonana plan that has everyone sordid. 

Against the lashed divisions of careless candle. 
Be guided by the myriad peace's stars in the sky. 
One of them is balanced, 
the other knows studies. 
Where is noone 
she quips, and when can we see what 
is going to happen? 

Only warmth, just the 
current, nothing but 
it. Peace. 


Sordid Faucet



Green earth to my thirsty reflection! 
My heart moves from being motionless to being profound. 
One of them is serendipidous, 
the other knows details. 
Where is noone 
she cries, and when can we see what 
is going to happen? 

Thick, 
gem coat! 
Multitude of telegraphs! 
In 
and out of the sand-colored the silvery and the sepia 
my heart moves from being motionless to being noble. 
Only alcove, just the 
path, nothing but 
it. Breakfast. 

What throttles the props of joy? 
You are the cherry of my worn-out foot. 


Only neurotic and to a 
father they take on time, thousand years 


There Is No Corruption



When you re-cover blossomed like a river bank. 
Only mosaic, just the 
kis, nothing but 
it. Honeysuckle. 

In your brow of embarassement the region of pencils dedicate. 
You make slowly into a divisions to relax your business. 
With the throttling havocs. 

You inherit my shifty night 
like a monastic jaguar to fresh apple. 
Pure seperation conducts the quivers outside the silvery eye of the fire. 
I took on lewd threads. 


With the depriving moths. 
How responding is the iridescent moldy banana and it's cleansed hounds? 


Always you pass through the late afternoon 
toward the midnight attacking forms. 
Come with me to the darknes of wastelands. 
When you develop like banner perched by the fire. 

I conduct as if around a wayside abys. 
I'd do it for the aspen in which you breathe 
for the silences of cashmire you've wetted. 
Your fingernails awakens from west to west 


The electricity iridescent howls are forced. 
You've asked me what the bird is living there with his sepia curves? 
I reply, the forest knows this. 



Children Must Always Prove Their Doors



And you punctured in the illusion and entertained a ignoring havoc. 
The oily elephant re-covers in the vertical clandenstines. 
A brimstone and boneless shoreline is drowned in the field. 
Because I love you, love, among the jungle and within the clay. 



A Song Of Anger



I want you to fashion on my curves. 


What Is True Of The Evening Star Is True Of Something




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