I Walk In Aptitude. I Wonder In Marvel. A quick one just as promised for my readers. This one is today and 2010.

It is through ongoing strain that wisdom finds refuge

Above an alley above the sky I walk and on a narrow path,

I walk a narrow path. It is about you. Who?

I walk a narrow path of might and light. This is not right.

I see thee through her mind and wisdom strikes twelve!

I is almost midnight. The needle

Through the center core ignited and united in screams and shouts:
'Why even think in aptitude and altitude?' I am not interested
In what you have to offer. Write, write, quickly.

People fight and society is might.
She hides her bitterness. She hides her rejection,

Above the clouds even above the horizontal line in the sky,
She sees red everywhere. She is but an introvert.

Clear I am, clear I am. I am clear and see more than you.
Remember. Remember I know thee from above and under.

I laugh and laugh. I laugh and laugh for subtleties aren't there.
I have declared war. You must read, you must read.

Only then will you grasp the subtleties.

She thinks I write about her.

She thinks I want her. I want her.

Only a poet is my friend, only a writer is my friend,
Only an animal is my friend, only a tree is my friend.
Still I play and play.

I will make you a poet. I will make you a writer.
I will make you read and read. I want her.

I look and think of the mountain paths of gray and clouds.
A hint through a clouded sky of yesterday and yonder.

It is close to gain and it is close to thunder.

You must read aloud, you must read aloud.

The pressure in the weather is slender and light,
Just as an outlet of cries and blood and wounds of blood,

And a strike! Where is the sun heading tonight,
Where is the sun heading tonight?

A rhyme, a crime, prostitution and time.
It's endless and of all might and of all time.

Still life goes by and animals come and go.
Birds fly and come and go. They come and go.

Money, blood and ignorance, subtleties, subtelties.
I think of her and she thinks I think of her and so does he.

They all do. I have the key. Read on. I have the key.

So do they all. So do they all. They want that
I write about her. She thinks I write about her. You think
I write about you. I can't even recollect.

The gender of the female controls its own destruction.
Morality and categories come and go.

He is not an artist, he is not a criminal, he is a man.
Thus I have found the key. I have your destruction.
I have your destruction, because I love thee.

How to hold in and creation make almighty?
These are not rhymes, these are not crimes.

These are creation and chisels upon the creation
Above the clouds. I walk a narrow path of wisdom
And permutation. I walk the key I hold in front of you.

Mighty is war. Magnitude of easy going.
Can I find the one sentence that this poem will bring,
to spring,

Make you think twice about the magnitude of the stage,
Inwhich we are lost,

Make you think twice about the grandeur of ignitude,
That lay under the clouds into the earth and plants seeds,

Right through your memory and there is always he who
thinks this poem is about me.

I remember thee. I remember thee. The cotton and silk. These
are but sentences,
Into the calm of yonder an thunder and easy going,

Easy listening, easy perfume of hyacinth, easy easy, easy dress and easy
To fool. It is you. Still she knows and all others don't.

Still you think you are. So you are. Guess who?

You are just a fool who thinks you are in command.
These are thoughts of old lone gone morbid and marvel lament.