Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III
Sleep Takes Me To Everything - Poem by Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III
'He invented a face for himself. Behind it, he lived, died and was resurrected many times.
His face now has wrinkles from that face. His wrinkles have no face' - Octavio Paz
Pare(nthes) is between
Feathers of language disect the skin.
You are a ---
Reflection of nights
WE ARE EACH OTHER!
Paper: relief of greater concepts.
The fictitous idiom that we are
no longer in control of ourselves.
F s i r n
i h of D e s o
This is a jigsaw of cartoon noses.
THERE IS NO FILM! ! ! ! !
Imagination is the only true form.
Reality is the only mistake worth keeping.
Perhaps this is time spinning,
that i never know this is true.
This has and never will happen.
This is me, you, I, why? ! .
I'm reading this over.
Agreeing and doubting.
Impatience for nirvana
is an everyday inconclusion.
The nibbling scratch of closing words
menstrating over imperfection.
How these screaming dogs are my creation!
fantasy for real.
the scar from scratching out a mistake. The miscarriage of our horizon.
Comedy that boos.........inside a squiggling dance of our oppresed opium.
God forgive me for being you for a moment.
I am your life.
I am currently changing you.
Ego is the hangman's last defiance.
The roaring engine of wolves.
Panting teeth of contrition.
She and I were married
How endings never finish.
The grammar lies...........run on sentence!
Is everything correct because it runs?
The psychosis of breath accepting a position of accidents?
I write this way because
I feel I will never return here.
Poetry is what I
Footsteps............. ........................Spoken out loud.
Crush our silence. Our need for exposition over the magic of circles.<-
it looked like crickets.
THIS IS WHAT THAT IS!
I'm writing to an audience.
Which one am I creating?
Is this me?
am, this, correct.
Read this............................................. ...................
You said it best.
The whispered forest in my hair
I imagined fear.
She is it.
She is Why?
Pow! Door! ? Gun! ?
Have I died?
Death is my second choice. First decision.
In doubt, Time absorbs.
Faith scares all of us into ourselves.
Unearth! Science: God into Theory.
I see you reading
I know you.
You did this too.
Intertube of white/chalk colored Jesus.
We are You.
Poet We are.
You Poet We.
the cycle flaws.
Why do we not move
the periods and commas?
This has happened before.
I have seen you being ourself.
Said without saying
saying without Said.
Life and the artist are the breath of progress indesposed with the invisible appearance.
Life studies you.
The scalpels of failure scope
the broken staircases.
The jumbled wounds of shriveled penises.
Dont you know?
How it bEginNeD
Direction is whatever we
considered to be more than
If I forget this. Then triumph.
Close My Eyes
Life is the dream that is always awake.
I correct in the vision of words
This space is words
..........((((((((((((*******Sleep takes me to everything*******))))))))) .........
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