It's so difficult not to be sentimental when you're writing about something you know little about, but itf you cam grab the idea, in this case - loyalty to a cause - yet the cause is unclear, and in this case also the cause conflicts with loyalty to a family. you can start as I just have. now lets not get building any literary coffins yet because, with the unknown, there's always a chance of a scientific or creative or physical spark. my fingers are still typing, that's the fuel and what's unknown so far in this story. no,, we musn't forget the story line is my cause. The simple answer, is we were to go back to basics, remember all the most insignificant moments of my life, and admit to the reason why i haven't achieved much, except for disillusionment - is because my cause is to take the ****.

But i know one thing, there should be a law dictating seriousness outdoes itself everytime and is therefore to be suspected. Like, the truth behind a masked ball is really just reality tv. And the yellow stones that come out in some mans *** are no longer alien because I just wrote about it in a pleasant  way. So good things can come from the unknown then.

Once I was parading down Oxford street and all my plans were coming into fruition, but it was still like, as if, the lights there were hiding something. Sometimes I think, it's make believe, society, that it's all dressed up in pale moon like glory, where it's eclipse is the click of a camera, it's circumspection is the way only aliens (or nerds) know about the true identity about its status and the stars engagement with it.

The way the moon hides behind symbol sounding clouds makes me question myself. They seem always to be antagonising each other, and yet so many myths, scientific theories and even reality tv shows have been constructed about the moon... it could easily be misconstrued as a political pawn, used to create padding around the prowess of many a great mind, keep the soldiers out the way who wont snitch, (not because they're kept out of the way but the other way around) steady out the different and various dimensions the population is living in to throw everything else away.

My life has been half kisses, aggressive pity aimed at any one who interacted with the plasmic moving force inside of me, maltreatment, blessings of attention in tough times, having quirky mannerisms, dreaming, arguing, healing, drug dealing, drug taking, smooth sailing, and an unnatural acceptance of change.

I suppose all these things, you would think would come with an acceptance of change but it's actually a dissociative disorder specified dissociative 'fugue'.Where you make an effort to start new lives all the time. So although when I choose to start afresh, that's technically change, I don't like change I have no control over. Partly because it could stop me investing in another new life I want to make for myself in the future.


I've thought about becoming a mother a normal amount really. but there's noone I really want to have them with. Pottery classes and sage are two tear some, lonely examples based on my instincts about what parenthood would be like for me... pragmatically boring for me on a pragmatic level and an excellent form of spiritual wellbeing that could possibly be selfish because my forever non existent child my not like sage.
and i liked pottery as a child,, and sage as an adult, anyway.


There's so much time for therapy, but it's a rare occurrence tht it's not converted from productivity in the first instance or place. It's like a big globe the psyche, and however long you can hang on for, the smoother it gets. like waking up at a festival or ina  tent in the woods. Safety isn't really a a vision to have, although many law makers etc portray it as such. I would go as far to say it's not even a case of not feeling safe but more, having a coat to wear in winter, a decent amount of money, so noone has to trench about the Streets all day making themselves recognisable faces, and love thy strangers; in the same context as love thy neighbour.

But then I think, why or how does it mean anything anyway? do we deserve to be safe when we can't comprehend the emotional consequences of our own peadophilia? Wealth? Specific responsibility?

When we talk about terrible things happening as if it's safe once more. oh, oh, for now it's safe. Well, no it's not. And rioting isn't safe either. Why cultures involved in safety I don't know for a start... people follow culture - everywhere everyone, different cultures - and we all know the police force are a force outside culture... so all culture either leads in the right direction. Or it's bad for safety.

It's so difficult not to be sentimental when you're writing about something you know ittle about, but itf you cam grab the idea, in this caseloyalty to a cause yet the cause is unclear, and in this case also the cause conflicts with loyalty to a family. you can start as I just have. now lets not get bulding any literary coffins yet because, with the unknown, there's always a chance of a scientific or creative or physical spark. my fingers are still typing, that's the fuel and what's unknown so far in this story. no,, we musn't forget the story line is my cause. The simple answer, is we were to go back to basics, remember all the most insignificant moments of my life, and admit to the reason why i haven't achieved much, except for disillusionment - is because my cause is to take the ****.

But i know one thing, there should be a law dictating seriousness outdoes itself everytime and is therefore to be suspected. Like, the truth behind a masked ball is really just reality tv. And the yellow stones that come out in some mans *** are no longer alien because I just wrote about it in a pleasant  way. So good things can come from the unknown then.

Once I was parading down Oxford street and all my plans were coming into fruition, but it was still like, as if, the lights there were hiding something. Sometimes I think, it's make believe, society, that it's all dressed up in pale moon like glory, where it's eclipse is the click of a camera, it's circumspection is the way only aliens (or nerds) know about the true identity about its status and the stars engagement with it.

The way the moon hides behind symbol sounding clouds makes me question myself. They seem always to be antagonising each other, and yet so many myths, scientific theories and even reality tv shows have been constructed about the moon... it could easily be misconstrued as a political pawn, used to create padding around the prowess of many a great mind, keep the soldiers out the way who wont snitch, (not because they're kept out of the way but the other way around) steady out the different and various dimensions the population is living in to throw everything else away.

My life has been half kisses, aggressive pity aimed at any one who interacted with the plasmic moving force inside of me, maltreatment, blessings of attention in tough times, having quirky mannerisms, dreaming, arguing, healing, drug dealing, drug taking, smooth sailing, and an unnatural acceptance of change.

I suppose all these things, you would think would come with an acceptance of change but it's actually a dissociative disorder specified dissociative 'fugue'.Where you make an effort to start new lives all the time. So although when I choose to start afresh, that's technically change, I don't like change I have no control over. Partly because it could stop me investing in another new life I want to make for myself in the future.


I've thought about becoming a mother a normal amount really. but there's noone I really want to have them with. Pottery classes and sage are two tear some, lonely examples based on my instincts about what parenthood would be like for me... pragmatically boring for me on a pragmatic level and an excellent form of spiritual wellbeing that could possibly be selfish because my forever non existent child my not like sage.
and i liked pottery as a child,, and sage as an adult, anyway.

Profiling peadophiles etc, is it the one with the *******?

'doubt it, has even cooked an egg this morning'

oh what, the-e trout!'

'give those bincoulars to me'

'so we're stuck in a cartoon are we?'

'yeah and no but the structure of its pretty much based on mud'

'like the way this towns run?'

'well i would say it picks a few people out yes.'

In the darkness,,
there is a  moth
cloying its wooly way up through the cottage thatching

but there's no cottage

just a an imaginative open space,
where perception descends heavily upon the eyes.

or the feelers.

missing pieces get picked up by the police,
as a giant scrawny bunch of cats cradle players summon both sun and rain.

Taking their ticket on the train,
leaving the rest to their own.

As it should be.

But how I have scrounged over the years, completely departed from intimacy
and seeking personal compensation from material objects.

How nice, I think it would be, for that to change.

Amen Lord.

When the waterfall crashes
there'll be no more nappies
factually there's a catacomb of undescribed
indescrepancies
alot of jolting, perifery and lung alax


and apart from the toy towers
dread barges in, ingidly
to the georgia of Charleston
setting adrift the down syndrome of set downs upon maintenance ponds

elsewhere.patterns disappear.

Amen Ravi.

In the midst of the ashes, there was a past which occupied a displayo of germatic sattelites,

evergreen, they premptied the revealment of gersau meladiliy.
from their cosmotic discompot encumebnt predominance.

***** upon ***** they drove without dread to the tip of grusome  degradation.

i don't remember the rest of the poem

prosper in wild times
makke acute the wildflower  to abait antagonism
and arrange your daffodils so they look down upon buttercups  because the architecture has spasmed in direction of the foursome
derailing the large from the sunset
with a new beginning
that larks like the hot moon
and laughs like christmas
telling tales on its goat herd
walking haughtily in the pastures of human growth
mumbling the sometimes which they all the time take advantage of

Amen, poonanny God.

struck by just after 10 o clock meds,
the easiness wears in slowly
so it's not exactly hard

but there's no soft landing either
because it's so late

the wrong people have been talking about the wrong
things for tooo long

econoclespies, draw on uteruses, plaque guards - male motherhood -

while i root the daisies from my almost bare memory
in a spark of prayer.

Amen Apollo. Amen Artemis. Amen Hercules. Amen Ra. Amen Siri. Amen Horus. Amen Athena. Amen Vishnu. Amen Aphrodite... Amen Lord. Amen An. POONANNY FOR YOU ALL. ;)

Trepidation courts the ruffles of your back,
carouseling your bleeding spine
whereas - bengal has tigers -
you have fur.

i love you like my life
And I love my life on drugs alot

....a chaotics promise,
an open secret,
a kleenex encumbrance signed by the others

scary movies, altitudes of atitude, as what has been becomes a burden once more
we both feel the boredom setting in
but I dont say because usually I have no other place to go

I belong with you, and you only.
Overstaying my welcome is
an apology for my wandering.

poonanny God.

I don't know if I am dyslexic or not, but at times it seems and if I could still feel - feels like patterns are the only thing i can understand.

Not to abhor a prenatal sentiment, but that screeching in the background is it heard by everybody?

And the stream of gasping saute prognosis that comes flying through every door and bounncing off every wall,


well, my choices with ergards to that; are either judge it or don't.


but my own inner personal gain is overlooked




so noone wants to play, the tvs only occasionally entertaining, and i'm trapped in a dream with this black girl Naomi following me around who seems to acutely be the only non Nigerian black woman, (although if she reads this that could change) who was forced to apologise to me by questioning my eyesight on arrival at my current abode. Well, well, well, what a lengthy encounter  we had  considering that with what's now just gone yesterday. No coincidence as it's all coordinated  and the landscape is what the landscape is. Not African in other words. But post Nigerian.

Oh and, it looks like Africa was overlooked, again, while they were looking for my phone that I put to be charged (again) in the office...

Rock 'n' roll isn't just about the juice it's about the contempt, the either/or goat herding inhibition that sears through the stratosphere (along electrical cables of the brain) and then is forgotten by it's implicator.

So what does the implicator intend to imply?

That she has no free will. That momentum is fun. That identity is transmutable if seen in such light as delusion.

So what does delusion of the implicator imply?


Oh it's their entire world. it's just noone can accept it, except for the people not accepting it, them even having a really psychic intricate way of thinking.

So maybe these implicators are just considered to have no imagination?

Well I understand, but then there's empathy isn't there, and the system is hardly set up to inspire imagination anyway. So that's questionable.

What of questions and the implicator?


Can you ask questions without free will?


Well, yeah, what else?

And that's where the whole corruption scheme begins to be answered.
It's hashtagthaaaaat!(aaat)!

1992 - infinity


well, its a great deal of responsibility writing a biography if its of a great deal of importance. so lets make it unconventional. Because it's my biography and i am unconventional. although i've been trying to leave, and have successfully been doing so - to leave my ego behind... so lets let this be the exception. Magic! An unknown guilt trip in the form of body shapes and faces that who are either not magical, are pretending to be, or who are claiming to be responsible for the magic at hand. I only used the word magic to describe the atmosphere and direction and purpose of my life since i had a few surreal torturous but enlightening experiences. In other words when the true cucumber decided to show it's evil. that's a metaphor for how i was ***** once and how the xenophobic aspects of my life started to blossom. Of course i have always been blossoming, but particularly as something undefinable. and that leaves the alien ******* that have been on my back since day one ample room for destroying my reality, and making my truths look vicarious. so, whereas, they live in the shadows and occupy my stage as soon as i start to create one, and navigate life as a free spirit, they swamp it with evil and blaspheme my truths with something just as undefinable. except theyre liars and i'm not. Amen Jesus Christ's biographers.

A little truth, if you don't mind...

An exceptional reason for distraction is garbage in any form
A truth then,
While the effigies sleep foregone notes knaw at pedigree particulars like ascendancy to a quack.
Too many gaps.

But they're not in my mind, they're in the matrix.
Maybe I created them? But nah, I wanna loose the game... It's ******* *******, doubt it even exists.

So poetry is meant to be seen, and it works that way, as an art piece

But when it's inherently dutiful, it can't at the same time not take on the form of art in some way.

The essence of vessel poetry is that it is maudlin, quaint, robotic, ironic, too susceptible to literary criticism, defiled by social criticism icism, hand made by ether, quarked upon, stolen, has the breath taken out of it, edited, and investigated. Also farquaimed, easy peasy to unbutton, but difficult to be in sync with, frustration echoes from it that it's not understood in sync, has frostbite, doesn't belong on this planet, casts aspersions on the second eye, wears you down, is like house ware, is too obsessed with sound,p thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat last a especially! I had to think of the word one trillion or rather number to get that last a put which defies the patterns k was making previously or my own autonomy but if autonomy is a pattern that's what I don't like about my poems. Even though they're y seem eleqouent or whatever technically they're all failures. Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaonetrillion. (The last one trillion is a that) Writing done. May the judge ******* and stop being corrupt. At least get rid of Theresa I mean she can't make it as a lawyer can she? Haha human spies. Say hi to the devil for me.....😭

The robotics trace underwent alsali/eene
Tricking dawn fetishes through necessary unnecessary ******
As concentration is blinded and the truth is seen as serum again. Amen God.

So anarchism whets the boat yeah,    then serdjerney cflats its unsone patterns  further undone by layers of speech, so the boat trespasses upon the heftery gaurding the gobby with goonfile, attackiing with blocking????????????????????? thaaaaaaaaaat)(at)

So anarchism whets the boat yeah,    then serdjerney cflats its unsone patterns  further undone by layers of speech, so the boat trespasses upon the heftery gaurding the gobby with goonfile, attackiing with blocking?????????????????????

wern warts **** den ova there!!!!! hbcdwiqy rfffffffffff vggggggggu nceiby -;- cbdiq ceq dfghj back to normal then thaaaaaaaat the ginormous of monsters cant eat love, but even killers can defeat the cc.i.a if they dont get on board with my bulletproof weapon resistant stalker resistant love. AMEN POONARNY UNIVERSE,

Anarchism rights the forces of terantualism
leaking herefty, like a trapped boat

the sociality is dumb dumb crap space


and thats why we're all waiting

its also the reason for anarchism

Poonanny cosmos

As a writer you are supposed to look at a computer keyboard and feel inspired. there's a piece of writing in me waiting to burst out today but there's too much manipulation against my creative instincts going on. Amen God.

Back to writing the old fashioned poem
I bought a new keyboard but its pressure points
have been altered to fit/programmed into the neurons of my brain


Like a piano that never worked in the first place, but now lives on the screen of some cartoon ******* film as a prop usually benefactory but unlit by love that strategem. so technically this whole keyboard thing is breaking the law.

Anilship ranch arteries bleed diesel
Upon typewritten pages of used up scruffy, but memory soaked bedsheets

Mroonus instances awake our souls into choosing the champion tussle.

As saved passwords stop us from getting trapped.

As the brambles caught the address
The language was adjacent to an epiphany

Running towards the fountain of words
I thought about wanking, truth and mockery

If we were gonna take them down we were gonna do it with a smile
Or not at all

The hues of the TV screen were three dimensional,
Unlike my surroundings
Which just made my other experiences more emphatic

Punk rock came on the stereo
And suddenly my empathy was cool

So I had to skip it.

No music then as I only had the free version of Spotify.


All words lead to the heart, and are a compass for recalculating what's gone elsewhere or to your head.

It's only an intellectual though that would use them to try and discern the difference between the two.

Acidivism is a way of treating ******* disillusionment with some form of *******

The craze will die down

But I've never been exposed to the real world, not as history would define it anyway.

Because my life was just me shouting that, learning how to do it more accurately all of the time and reshaping the world hence in miraculous ways. Except my real voice historically won't be heard.
For they have full control and won't let the truth get out. Because it means their death. And if our lives are this controlled and you would understand how they are if my voice was heard for real then they deserve to die.

Poonanny cosmos.

droosan frown, no from but yoghurty fromage hauls itself out through the mast into the sea of unwisdom, such frailty
such purposelessness.
how can this be?
let the trite be hard and as a **** and the hefty as easy as caffeine -
And please forgive the effort. thaaaaat. Amen God. amen apollo. amen vishnu. Amen Horus. Amen Ra. Not Amen to you An.

Occulemency never fairs well
When the truth is hurt
Watershed times over as soon as you get to
Getting past the
    Defences
Unfair and further sugarcoated
With already managed acting
To instil
The harm physically
Rather than there be the risk of emotional hurt
Or even worse
A complete lack of defence against trauma

All is as it seems then


Not

******* other mental patients I don't give a **** about you and I know you've read this.

Hallelujah

A tear in her jeans was myopically, at the undercut
A similie for misunderstanding in the past
Ah what's relevant? Relevance picks at you like a giant human acne *******
Without acne
Terrible the things they do
But then they don't really involve us
So maybe they do have a heart
Loveless propaganda, nightclub fantasies, hospital bargains
Prison nightmares.
The soup of the day didn't look tasty
But it was adequate to the receiver.
Standard rules? Or exceptional exploitation?

Well I wouldn't call any exploitation above exceptional
So perhaps its just my life is an exception.
A discourse to I would call it anyway though.
Still been *****.
Still been tortured nearly every day of my life.
Still never trusted anyone.
And I hate myself for that last one.
Poonanny divinity.

My heart is like a cabbage
all soggy and curved
with some remaining sorry crunchy bits.

when someone kisses me, i fight them
in a bops left caramel escape

and if someone tries to hold me for too long
I stop liking that person

so I guess I can be forgiven for choosing drugs over serious relationships.

Who likes children these days?
I mean, they basically smell of peadophilia and poo.
So I find myself asking the question, what's worse a child or paedophilia?
i watched the film 'Matilda yesterday, and in one scene her negelctful adoptive parents leave her sitting in the sink covered in what is suggested to be poo.
Then it shows a sequence of her growing up.
just like poo decomposes *******
and just like many children are peadophiles in the making
because although they may not be neglected
they're thrown on the compost heap to grow
you know, compost? Like the big bags with the instructions, that's only vaguely mixed material, and is tended to according to the instructions or not at all.
So it goes, many adult peadophiles are just children
rolling around in the dirt.
(As much as anything that's a metaphor to say not the rich ones.)
I personally, enjoyed my childhood ****** abuse, so im assuming I was born a peadophile.
But then i don't beleive it's a mental disorder either as i don't believe in mental disorders - or even trauma.
I beleive in living life, and living a good one. In other words having fun.
Does that mean I'd ever harm a child?
Absolutely not.
As long as I'm making my own life choices.
Amen Ra.

To reconcile with lost enigmas of forethought and feelings that were always encapsulated in unknown ways I thaaaaaaaaaat still have not found the answer for.

The  contingency of alcatroz
beguiled like a drop of honey in petrol
what fairs the best, in extreme circumstances, is the one that does not give a ****
but maybe, i must say - cares spiritually
so then they have entities, angels and other spirits on their side
the armour that is required for a shopping trip is just as much as what is needed  as that which is taken to  war,
in this day and age.

Noone is safe
And for  example, if the fight is unbeatable, because it involves a computer system then the mole hill must be disreputed through a grassy lie enema sorting bit by bit the bodies of the most fortunate but whose bodies no longer belong to them. perhaps that is why they are kept in unfortunate circumstances,

broccoli allowances are sparse in the amenities of heightened bulk
now is that what we humans need though?
a lessening of powdered salt and a grainful of speech perhaps instead?
these are just questions.
powdered salt like the caustic membranes which chuff at the insides if out outer innards making us inaccessible to each other and sorry, but a pile of dough. For them to knead, so why should we hear their pleas? that thaaaat thaaat thaaaaaat that. thaaaaaaaaat. yeah ******* authorities.

Attributes of the walking stick
hung around like charity shop clothing -
bagged and ready to go

It was a switch that had truely altered time again
(\ - this is not poetry it is gospel.)and a shower which managed to scrub off a few inches of the ***** dirt

a sectre of a cultural conversation
that stands for nothing
whether i'm ***** again ot not.

The chip shop gave me free water, and i just considered myself lucky at the time
but its starting to make me more suspicious now

and not in the way that i've seen my whole teenage and further years as a massive xenephobia crime made to seem more convincing through dehydration

the drip drap of the rain velociously continued, like a pony nipping her head out of a stable
As the right handed, fraudulent farm girl hid behind a baby porcupine like stack of hay bails that looked like they could fall at any moment
She must have assumed the farmer had  a hearing impediment as she was mumbling quite loudly to herself
'and aliens are green' 'and people are purple' and 'the queen is beige.'

This was why she was hiding, as the factorious, bimble, self serving others were all aliens.
Any time she went someplace new she felt like there was a steaming kettle of atmosphere blended with ideas carrying and following her from step to step.

And she had no answers that but simple truths.

'hey kid, get outta here!'

Her voice had increased from mumbling to screaming the word 'that'.

- And she was gone.

Lay the letter on me
Ranch me up from the forest to my knees
Abiliant to the crust of the core of mirth
Transparency in a transient form travels
But only to the oath and back
Numb from all these accolades
The buzzing and brilliant mostly only echoe
But unapparent to that is the medial, meloncholy underscore
That trips the fur, fuzz wire
Glamorizes and ramps up the cystelege
On a whim
To anarprize the lullabyest of cork cracking imbecile
Ility?
Or crocodile?
Or water sprout?
Or canker?
Or ram?
Or slizzered....!?
Or hypnosis?
Or information extraction?
Or a packet of crisps?
Or gentle soothing of genitals?

The valancy coveted the gold and green
Wearing what was wherein like apaloosa
Where the kindred of communicative enjambment could
Be splattered like a fly
And to prophesie
All the where's fly off out the stage
The contours gave engarcia to the guwaffed and few
Yet, Still there were standards
Multitudes, censure, and what has been written above ensued!

Poonanny God Lord man.
I enjoyed our communication earlier
Love Jesus x

Bulbous tunings fetter out the cold wise looks
Of a dancer
Who even lost her grave
Either/or the menace in the deviation
Traces nothing back from obliviation
But forwards into oblivion
Where dust and scar are alike
And cannot attack the divine e

Gray dunces
Atrium art
Uncurled unfolding
No smarts
Well wishing
When unconditioned
Either bleeding
Or passing through the
Spirit realm when not
The cannisters of anachronistic
Sailing can frankly rot.
As when I have an alien in my body
Nothing can be discerned
Although with my eyes I see clearly
My reactions may disappear.

Toucans worn out verily
By the haust in the horizon
Spical specialities leak out
For a dug at consumerisation
Frank the rafter
And John the son
And the pigeons which crowd about us
Their business not minded at either end
The city's walls run dry
And a cat lady sleeps
Illuminating the want of her children
Through making sure they play their part

Tuners or tongue rings
There's a gift for all
If you're willing to stop a minute
And listen to your call.

the crust of the pie can be taken with all sorts of sauces
cut offs, remainders, brought in for the muscle to feed on
when the salty slides out of view, to a seemingly chaporpned
shore bank

there's left a brain without any collusion at all
and the fern which grows beyond the gate is just a trite little

among the ponds and frogs, however, princes run
only prevented by structure and rules

although because of this girl there was far less damage done
than the damage those other people who died did this morning.
and i think they all know why.

What's for dinner? Again. Wrinkled noses from my shifty eyes.
The game is 80% still in action according to God.
So what is the wait for? The science? The anxiety?
As preposterous as it may sound it is as it's not which is how it seems.

Joy is truth.

Amen Lord.

Laughter corroded the pang of the heart
Ghostly in its precision of fallen bareness

The strings allocated to the puppets legs
Flashed in his memories as she walked

Danger preceded the meeting of the cat named Satan
No mist descended, one tried to escape pain
Then they didn't know their true name.

Counting the devourment of numbers and numerical advantage
Took rockets of species away from bars
And without intimately landing them home
Left crustations flabbergasted at the lack of sand

  For it had all been taken away
Just because it couldn't be counted.


The rooster crows, and an angry man dies
The starlight issues encouragement to its glove, the moon

Who is standard in its emphasis of atmosphere and agriculture alike

The mining for gold was stalled because the thought gehuerth opened up another barrier to a scene beyond musicals and one that perhaps didn't even need music.
......certainly not death anyway.

Amen God.

Deja vu is like a robot who is a child just trying to play
As sunshine fades la cracks in the wall of bricks unswell
And a long due favour of formulation springs into being
Chastising for an already fought battle in the name of taking a shower

The long or short straws of uncivilized rule making and trickery
Blase as it may feel to those experiencing major distractions or difficulties in telling what is really going on
To you I say this
Look at what has been going on for the longest time
Considering my, as a goddess's dynamism too.

a world of cattle, pigs, lamb, sheep
rattling along
they can feel the lonliness in their bones at those
vegetarians -
but cheese and milk and yoghurt just rains hate upon us all
a friendly battle waged on, ironically perhaps, with the aid of drugs
non synthetic in comparison with meat
galloping horses get shot in the wild
harbouring their remedies for their fellow farm animal cause
as for the vegans
theyre all crazies.

i dont keep secrets
but the entirety of the block does
block heads, they call themselves
intutied by the far waring nose abouts
neating and swalling their way up to each building

except for in the summer, when pansies grew
and the cutlery was at least superfluous to the ordeal

whereabouts were unable t be substitututed, just surrealised
and then the claim came that they had been too subtleized to be otherwise

the ulterior motives were irrelevant  as a corset worn by a ghost

and so there was no evidence.

sunflowers Lord.

submarineish the joint dependancies were or werent art
the army just couldn't decide
fillaments of tutitlism emptied their canvases at the station
....gruesome pileups endangered the worlds species
as arumentative tv hosts grieved over viewing numbers

To entice the slice of listening grip
Tiny plastic cat toy ***** must
Orbit around the earth
Never wishing for more poetry
Instead instilled with a memory.

The circular circuit needs paradigm
And a drooling fish tank
To escape the bottomless rhythm
Of death on the inside

At the brink of expulsion
There is a disdain
Which covers the cut

From excrement to excellence.

Amen God.

All monks ratified the gargoyle of addementum adamancy...
Froggy outbuildings were only available for murders
And the only real rule was the celestial.

Amen lord.

It amounts to nothing
When it's taken back
A permanent display of change
But they they just want me to react

All the while I'm sleeping
With nothing really in my head
I guess we should be severed
If you want to cut off my head

And in the throws of finality
The conquest seems more dear
But there'll be no grieving process
Just rumination
At least that one things clear.

Do they really deserve to die?
A frenetic cauliflower fronting non apparition?
That does nothing to defend others interests?
Holocaust is a rather propogandaish term
And in that sense it's not what anyone really wants
But to cease the disparate energy, and look a bit further into the glass
Might feel a bit, or even a lot more fermented
- Creative

Like grapes being pressed into wine juice.

In other words whatever action must be taken is holy.

The first world war lasted from 1914-1918
And I was there
I think I was an angel then
But my grandma says I was an alien.

Poonanny god

There's a little more room at this moment
And I won't ruin it if the calm sets in properly
And if I get included properly permanently
(And it's not just me that matters)
By contradicting what my soul has been longing for
For
So
Long
But
Neither
Will
I
Say
Amen.

Amen God.
There's hope! You glorious creature lord. Your might is incomparable
And may your light shine down upon us all
Amen.