∅⚢☢⚧☯✰⚩✿⚥∅☢⚧☯✰⚢✿⚥☠⚩☯⚧✰

Too little and of course, too late
they spend what’s left imprudently
attempting to alleviate
the love of God’s own liberty:
The world transexual one-party state.

They think it’s normal — right for all
lost in a prideful dying fall
their lions heed the sea-horse call
attempting to transgender fate;
the devil searches for a mate
his nightly Babylonian date:
the world transexual one-party state.

They’ll legislate the Lord away
(his fundie followers as well)
their hateful heaven, holy hell
shall wither up and disappear
before redemption can draw near.
Their myths no more shall obfuscate
nor dangle such celestial bait
that underwriters overrate:
the world transexual one-party state.

Their antichrist is overpriced,
the nations, globally enticed,
now glorify the deviance
in herd-like mass obedience
surrendering to expedience:
where good is bad, and bad is great
and Christ the only one to hate,
allegiances exacerbate
the world ******* one-party state.

Parties will form and parties end
but parties can no more defend
consolidation into one
than flip a switch and dark the sun;
the Caesars left this part undone
the Muslims are just having fun
with our ******* one-party state.

Bring on the night until we see
that dark means dimming by degree
two parties? Overdone by one !
So let it bleed and let it be
till One is All and all agree
that we are doomed to hesitate
when God cannot resuscitate
the late One-World ******* State.

Walked on many
More like walked on by one
Never even seen the damage that's been done.

I look back on time and time again
This time it's my turn to win
not some angelic Saint anymore
More like a ***** hear me roar

Sarcasm is my game and I play it hard
Lets do some magic show me your cards
Little miss nice girl has done her thing
Looks like some things are meant to change

A dark rose must be pick
With thee utmost care
You can try your best to seize it
However, its your life you choose to
dare

The rose is beautiful, yet so dangerous
so many petals of deception
What truly lies within
Could not be found by mere
inspection

See though, I have seen this rose
And pricked by the delicate she
But with every ***** I receive
A little more rose I see

Give it your best
To remove her from her space
Though I'll guarantee you this
The dark rose will never
Reside in your vase

SK Fisher

once you claim to not have not experienced
all the fooling with women in youth
and exhausted the libido...
you never really want to claim a need
for their company while ageing and
growing jealous when her stories emerge
over drunken conversations when her
friends get invited -
i mean, it's almost like you have a *****
stitched to your forehead that
is a reminiscence of youth not claimed -
indeed old age is hell for women...
and youth the hell for men -
in between there are children...
feminism is an odd-ball... it's this rebellion
against an ageing patriarchy...
men who sway power...
what a weird and wired fetish of thinking...
why would i claim companionship with a woman
if she experienced all the sensual freedoms
in her youth... while all i got is a freedom
of a range of professions? exertion of one muscle
here, exertion of another muscle there...
had i stuck to full-time industrial roofing i'd
probably write one poem a week...
oh please, let's not obstruct with too much consciousness
of how poetry is defined, that's for english teachers
to rekindle hopes of a Shakespeare resurfacing
while ignoring Milton in the curriculum ante-vitae...
no, when youth is not allowed mutual pleasures...
the following concerns for life suddenly disappear...
there's no acidity relevant to it, no abhorrence,
no need to testify a revenge...
it's all a matter of comfort... and it's more comfortable
to be without a woman than with one,
considering the pelvic-pivot-of-*** was not strained
well enough to settle down into a friendship
with women... since my own sensuality was barely
scraped to consider a friendship...
instilled in me, the idea of two potential flints
scratched for a spark... but nonetheless remaining
two rounded marble spheres
that dimmed the lights... i felt it too opposing
to consider a half measured sensuality forced into
a platonic love... i might as well have been born a homosexual.

I'm tired...
Not the I can't do it,
The i'm done kind of tired...
It's much more complicated...
Imagine a train that runs on dreams
Faith, trust, pixie dust and sunbeams...
What do you fathom would happen
If one day,
It ran out of steam
perhaps like a grandfather clock
one with no tick to its tock
It wouldn't chime on any hour
And the metronome would stop...
So just like any other dead clock
It will not move for its time has stopped
Logical that maybe
But this dream fueled train i speak of...
It's actually me..
My once roaring engine is now cu-put
And the fueling room is empty,
I already burnt the soot
But regardless i still have to move forward
By any means necessary..
So i strip away my accessories
And tear out some useful necessities
I feed them all to the fire
Call me a cannibal if you want
I guess that's what it would seem
Maybe this is what they meant
By nothing ever comes freely
Even enduring has a price...
But i'm still not moving yet...
So i reverse engineer my locomotive of dreams
And covert the power source to my apparently abundant screams
They say that pain is a gate way
To some where that's green
I guess they got it wrong
You're  used like a machine
Sure, you're going forward,
At less than a steady pace,
I'd rather stay still and stuck forever
Than cringe at my own  sullen face
But people cheer on
"Keep going!!! You're almost there!!!"
I whisper, quietly erased...
"I can't afford to.. I have nothing left to spare"
I really thought i'd get some where...
I tried..
I cared..
Even if you want to roll again..
This game of life still isn't fair...
So with my dreams expired
And my resolve retired...
I fall off the tracks and sigh
"I'm tired..."
" So very, very tired..."

I lie awake with thoughts of you occupying my mind

And I know that dialing those ten familiar numbers would get you here in a matter of minutes because it’s only 2:04am and you rarely ever sleep before 3.

But I will forbid myself to pick up the phone

Because although I would love to feel safe and secure I know it will just make it harder in the end.

How can I be at home yet feeling so incredibly homesick?


I try again to remember blissful moments

Moments before things got complicated and stressful

Like when you traveled thousands of miles to meet my little brother.

Or when we danced at a country bar in a small town to music we didn’t even know and enjoyed the company of people twice our age.

Or memorizing each other’s orders at every café, breakfast bar and ice-cream shop we went to.


I try to remember occasions before the shadows of your past made constant appearance in your character,

And those very shadows caused the very arguments that broke the one thing I was sure couldn’t be broken.


Now it’s 2:12am and nothing’s changed,

Just another night spent obsessing over what used to be.


R.M.

I can start and i can't finish.

I hear the chime tonight of my ear's great inner bell

Its peal in thunderous harmony with the precision movement of my heart

The great wide arteries in flood sweep past and tell

Of lives lived long and fierce but only in part