Canvas Poetry

Ver stream, 0001

"There it is

I release my highest would

it is my highest

one yet

I think it is to-do with Balance"

"What is it?"

"How much you would do to help someone when you feel in your mirror neurons and your imagination at the same time there must be balance here because how you interact with someone and how much you care about someone—I stop there because I need to emphasize they do."

Guarded by Nomu,

green are his armor good it's not of silver,

but he has been swimming in the Neptunian

delicate of my vampiric desire

little scum plants that grow like gelly in water and glow in direct sunlight as light as ink on the other side of paper.  They are beautiful.  Rainbow color.  I call it the color ver.

Ver means green truth.  Interpret that as you will.  Some suggestions are Money, Environmentalism, and Young.  When these gather in the chain and connections of jewellry pieces of his armour

I give him a new reciprocity and he gives me a new reciprocity.

Now that my highest would is released let me refine it

so that there is nothing to be paranoid about,

Ver is like a new color except it is every color seen through my lens.  And it means green truth because green guarded by Nomu green is also the color of weakness.

"When you are botched:

My beautiful ver stream

Deeper than

man, the Glen,

a Neanderthal"

A Vision appeared to him of conversation:

"What is your highest would?"

"Would you do this?  Would you do that?"

"How would you decide?"

It is noticed that the word 'would' appears on the First Gay Letter, an explanatory lyric about Anna.  It describes Anna as the internal, private messiah, the second Christ.  And it is a very peculiar usage because it is 'would beam' as if to say a 'wood beam'.

My highest would, when I consider Anna and Christ, is to be played like a fiddle until Christ comes back to save me.  That's how stupid I really am.  But since I recognize it and I put forward to you my own interpretation of religion the Christianna (because we say nah to Christianity) I ask that you forgive me.

Glen: "Disaster

this is true gay poetry

I am a gamer

What kind of story do I want to tell?

Gay

That's better

There is a middle to your male attraction and I will find it

On the trail by the ocean,

I searched my deepest eyes

the eyes of my children whose

near the cliffs and salt sea water

And asks my God for the clover

to mutate them . . . into fairies and radio flies

And he responded, "Horseradish."

And the children spoke and

aplenty growing on the trail cliffs, adore, and chose a true reciprocity

as you would an herb on the super market shelf."