No more lords.
No more rules.
Dictated by cloud headed fools.
Dogmatic commands issued
from chairs in the sky.
Telling those without wings:
How we cannot live,
And terms when we die

Speaking endless promises
yet speaking in riddles,
circles, and lies.

Life is a game
Of slicked palmed
councils on clouds

Telling us,
Work hard enough!
Aspire high enough!
And you can earn your wings
(of feathers and wax)
All your hard work
Will be rewarded at last!

So, work hard today
and pay us our taxes.
Perhaps tomorrow,
you get your wings.

All lies.
We toil today.
We toil tomorrow.
We toil until our loved ones
Gather in shared sorrow.
Buried with unfulfilled dreams
Of flying
Tomorrow.

If cows go moo chickens cluck, therefore if the farmer has eaten chicken eggs, he will cluck,
and if he had a steak dinner, he will clmook...
and yield eggs filled with milk from his ****.

This is why eggs are solely a breakfast food,
while steak is a dinner because mixing the two in one meal only makes the effects worse,
turning a Farmer over time into a milk filled egg.

Note only farmers are affected like this,
since it takes very high levels of exposure to beef and eggs in their raw un-processed forms,
which we don't buy at grocery stores for the above reasons...
First the mutagen's proprieties of the two mixed together must be neutralized.
By filling any crates in which beef are shipped with powdered eggs
and crates of eggs with beef made from a special breed of cow that has been genetically bred to lay eggs,
the hooves and horns go to make that strange astronaut ice cream that you see in gift shops.

Each "netrie-cow cost over 10,000,000 yen each (and you can only pay in yen)
but without them entire crops of beef eggs can be lost.

Oh i forgot... these were pure bred eggs and beef that need to be treated...
Beef eggs are a new advancement of science,
they are normal eggs in every sense but that they moo when you shake them if they have gone bad,
and taste slightly like beef and need no special treatment.

The chicks which hatch from beef eggs grow to be feathered cows which mate with everything in sight,
and usually are killed before they have the chance to grow,
but many a farmer has decided the risk of raising chowkins worth their original flavor and taste,
but many employ steel pant plates to prevent accidents
(since for some reason chowkins Can produce offspring in humen males as well as their own kind...)
The process killing the farmer,
and producing a creature which speaks in only an impenetrable deep southern accent and Farmer slang,
loves milk and grass,
and unable to perform any function in society,
but crops grown by such creatures are noticeably better in taste.

Clmook!
Clmook!
Clmook!
Go get your lifetime supply of cheese?
Please?

chaos.
death.
destruction.
the winds are rich
grains of economical gain blown on the wind
grains,
pieces of remainders of ruined lives;
ripe for reaping
reporters can smile their toothy grins
(pretending they don't love it- or the boost in their ratings)
politicians will preach and smile their equally fake smiles-
heads dancing with sugarplum visions
power hungry to bask in the warmth of the schism
-
politicians and reporters smile
looters loot
as figure heads kisses victims heads in style
oh what a lovely mess it is
so completely human
for a natural disaster

zebra geebra
striped like an amoeba
or maybe like a striped cloth
thrown over a horse
but you don't race zebras
or amoebas
just a horse
but if the horse
had a striped saddle
it'd be a zebra
but not an ameba
but amoebas did evolve into zebras
and horses

Wish I was there, yet I got my hair.
Do I dare? Rogaine is rare
Wish I was there yet I still got eyes to stare
Do I dare? I lost my hair
Is that fair? I do not dare, where’s my hair?
A hare has my hair!
Come hare, hare with my hair
Do I dare? The hare has my hair
It is very fair, my hair how could the hare dare?
What shall I wear? Everything matched my hair
Will the hare dare, it has my hair and could wear what I wear
That is a fair hair it is wearing what I wear, it dared!
The mare ate the hare and my hair!
I cant hurt the mare, it is the mayor of the mares, and it dared!
it is fair, do I dare, the mare is a fair mayor, that’s rare.
It’s not fair to hurt such a fair mayor, yet it has my hair.
The mayor took my eyes that stare for my hair, now what can I wear?
The hare will share, Rogaine is rare but hares are fair
A fair hare for Rogaine and the mayor
Wish I was there, yet I got my hair and ransom for the mayor

I am singing a song of singing!
it a song of singing a song!
you sing when you sing a song of singing
because you are singing!
a song!
lla lalaaallaalalalaala'
that is singing a song
for singing has doe,
which are dear
and deer are dear
and dear have no dough so
they are pointless to rob.
unless your name is ray,
who is singing
a song of singing
becuase he is a singing a song of dough, on doe,
and this song it makes doe dough grow
with the sing of the singing of the song!
singing like me
who i call myself
since ray is not me, he is a ***!
a *** who is singing a song, a song about being sung!
i am singing a song of singing!
it a song of singing a song!
you sing when you sing a song of singing
because you are singing!
a song!

Your Crystal like body,
Shinning with cracks.
malicious sparkles.
Sharp facets.
Every chip, every drop,
That should have crystallized,
And then dropped off.
Has not.

Gorge on pain,
Revel in confusion,
Misery isn’t hereditary Like your back.
You can be happy.
Not seek out pain.
Is this what you want?

The girl I loved,
Is gone and missed.
Replaced by a miser of woes,
An unhappy beast.
That spits and sulks
Gone are the purrs.
The felicity.
The light.
I dated a wannabe corpse,
Not something I like,
Revel in your pain,
You can do it without me.
Everything brings you down,
Especially me,
That seems how you like it to be.

The girl I loved,
  Is gone and dead,
As are we,
Stop ******* with my head.

Love me.
Hate me.
Do both,
I don’t care.
Do whatever you want,
I’m not there

Bloop went the raisins as the fell one by one into the buttery goodness.
The liquid fat burning on the heated metal like so many soiled babies locked in a room together; with nothing to eat but each other;
jumping off the bridge of life one by one to keep the others alive;
leaving just one massively obese baby
(well not a baby anymore, but a child.
As it would take several years for them to all eat each other until only this one morbidly,
massively disgusting creature remained.
After all his were brothers gone, calling for food
only to be found by some kind soul
who later donates his body to send the child to a state mental institution.
As the man is found partially eaton and the child goes free on the basis of insanity.
however the mans family never forgets him though his wife eventually remarries.
She is as ill fated as her husband; less fortunate as they never found her body
(she was ground up and fed to her pigs).

And through her spirit the pigs became sentient;
and though her body was never found.
The pigs went to the police and told them about the ******-
but when the officer tried to arrest the ex-husband there was not enough evidence;
and the insistence that talking pigs had told him about the ******;

landed the officer in the same institution as the child;
in adjoining cells.
Where they conversed my smashing their heads into wall speaking morse code.
Through the child the officer learned how to become immortal
(as the child was in fact a genius having absorbed the intelligence of an entire room of babies prior to being locked in his cell)
The officer also learned how to teleport ,
but the pigs had told him how to do that; not the child.

After escaping their cells, the officer and the child went to go find the pigs.
But were sad to learn they had built a rocket and flown to mars;
and would return in several thousand years when mankind was more tolerant.
A local mongoose had revealed all this too them.
Only later did they learn from a cross breed of a hawk and a pidgin that the rocket had crashed.
And none of the pigs had survived.
heart broken the officer and the child mourned for many years-
their tears forming what is now the great lakes.

Where the child and officer still live to this day in an underwater lab,
conducting experiments on rocks from mars (their rocket did not crash).
As the world moved on the two continued to do research-
until they had a break through. Cloning the life that had originally built the canals on mars.
Emerging with the little creature stunning the scientific world
and giving the two instant world wide fame.
As the founders of the great lakes and the bellwethers to the third scientific revolution,
but unfortunately they both perished when their lab flooded.
they were greatly missed.
and in the afterlife they had endless parties with their friends; the pigs.
Though the kind farmer never forgave the child for eating his brain over buttered raisin bread.

The Rubber Bunny flew through the air
The Rubber Bunny gave me a scare
So I punched it in the face
It turned around and sprayed me with mace
I lay on the ground quivering with pain
The Rubber Bunny must be insane
I got up and ran
And Man oh Man!
That rabbit ran as fast as he can
The rabbit got tired and that slowed his run
I was about to grab him when he pulled out a gun
I got the gun out of his hand and my hand on his neck
He pulled a knife, I said 'what the heck!'
That rabbit was armed
And I was alarmed
He ran back to his hole in the ground
I was mugged I found
I didn't have my wallet
And when I looked inside his home, I saw it
I reached down into the ground
It was my wallet that I found
All of the sudden a sharpening pain
From the teeth of that rabbit so insane
I pulled my hand out with the rabbit too
I tried to think what to do
Once again I whacked him in the face
This time he did not turn with mace,
But with a grenade
Before I could stop him he yelled ?raid!?
Millions of bunnies came into sight,
I thought to use all my might
But they had overwhelming power
I thought I’d be dead within the hour
Grenades, mace, guns, knives
These bunnies will destroy many lives
Before I reached the edge of pain,
I realized why they were so insane
It turned out to be something funny
All they wanted was my money
The bunnies were about to attack
I had a stick and I gave it a whack
Blood squirted and I heard a scream
I thought I wiped out the entire team
But just when I thought I won the war
There was another, and more, and more
At about that time I had lost a thumb
A finger or two, or maybe some
I saw a rabbit go by with my toe
I think it was the rubber bunny but I’ll never know
And then with his teeth he pulled it apart
And all of the sudden he struck for my heart
At about that time the police showed
And now on my chest a stitch is sewed
And now I warn you to look out
He’s still in America without a doubt.

la laa la la sing the happy song!
the smurfs... they told me to **** again...
la la laa, lasing the happy song all day long
noose to the toes popsicle stick up the nose...what great fun!
la laa la la
time to **** again
la la la laa
death is my friend, 80\'s cartoons tell me to **** again...
la la laa sing the happy song...
I have a collection of tongues nailed to a gong...
it rings quite happily with a happy song...
la la laa la la, sing the happy song
i wish i lived in hong kong. thums are in hong kong...
la la laa la... sing the happy song
skin is blue, teeth are red, only one is paint,
smurfs are good people are bad, who says I need meds?
la la laa la... sing the happy song
I lay my feet among human heads
la la laa la... sing the happy song
my walls were not always red,
I like to ring my gong w/ every added leg
it rings quite happily with a happy song...
la la laa la... sing the happy song
take a bow, reach in my pants
not for reasons you think my friend
la la laa la... sing the happy song
decorate the stage w/ happy brains..
sing the happy song!
*BLAM

I am a bug
mew mew mew
hi lets all wave to the stew!
bubble bubble bump
stew down my shirt front
hi shirty stew
can you mew?
Indeed I do too!
mew mew mew
look the grass grew!
mmmm sunshine on the dew
dew ten feet high
that grass REALLY grew
and now i must say good by to the stew
but he did leave some mildew
green green and fuzzy!
ooh so lovey dovey
i just want to stroke it all day;
and not in a lewd way...
green and fuzzy
like grass;
only grass is not fuzzy
though if you get close enough
it does become blurry;
and blurry is bluzzy
and bluzzy if muzzy
and muZzy is muggy
and if you get that close
then the grass will mug you
just hand you a big mug of hot coco
mmmm hot coco
it melts dew!
it does!
hot like stew....
but stew doesn't melt dew
but will melt bugs.

Twist of fate and time combine
puppet masters controlling with strings of twine
while dancing for the pleasure of the divine.
We tap our feet in times of war.
wearing smiles devoid of dread; corners pulled by string.
The eyes lack twine yet they remain closed.
Island of fantasy rather then choice
They have the hands, they have the feet, yet it is the minds they seek.
An awakened puppet is incalculable and rarely meek.
Crushing the mind they crush the will and
Strings of twine become steel

Innocence-
a myth,
a joke.
we are all but wolves in sheep's clothing.
blind cannibals blindly feeding on kin of flesh,
feeding on illusions and delusions.
you know you've seen it all,
when wolves bleat instead of howl,
grin and bleat "good",
when inside is a growl.

I’m a rooster!
Crowed the happy man.
As then men in white helped him fly,
To the happy can!
Where he could eat,
All the Campbell’s soup he liked,
And crow like a rooster;
Be it day or be it night.
They gave him his own jacket;
One of charming white.
And a matching mask of steel and cloth,
When he began to bite.
Crow he did,
Day and night.
Till a needle in his arm;
gave his guardian angel’s ears,
Sweet silence’s delight.
Needle, mask, and white;
Day by day; night by  night,
The rooster in his mind took flight.
When at last; away hobbled the beak-
He was in his pointed box.
And had began to reek.
It said,
if you go,
To his grave at dawn,
And knock trice times slow;
You can still hear him crow

Caw! caw!
I’m a sparrow;
Said the spontaneous raven.
And the cows did agree;
As the raven danced with glee.
And the cows  looked  on amused,
As they chewed their cud (food).
Eying mr. raven;
Eyeing, spying;
Wanting to make cud,
Of Mr. raven.
Who was namen’
The blood dripping from his stamen.
As pollen floated into his haven.
His face did bloom;
The cows did eat.
And a headless raven lay at their feet.

what is a cat with no stripes?
who tells riddles day and night?
what cats grins?
mind like a loony bin?
the Cheshire? certainly not him!

Like the moon
making waves in march.
Like the communists of yore
upon sheets.

Red tide.

stalin matches in blots of red
in cotten fields
as ruby waves roll upon sandy fabric beaches

China shaped spot here,
North Korea there,
there is Cuba,
look North Vitnam!

Red tide.

The communists of yore
all fade away
come laundry day.

I beseech thee ;
forgive this gamblers mistakes;
his rash actions and large bets.
his rash words and brash bluffs.
for the *** is something he holds very precious,
and very dear,
something beyond
mere nickels and dimes.
mere twenties and tens.
for at stake is
not a something,
but a someone,
a her to be exact.
though he's only really known her two weeks.
she was long before a loyal and true friend.
and this, he doesn't want to end.
for friends can be lovers;
but lovers must be friends.

There once was a Man with head like a bucket,
Every time he spoke it sounded like hens being shot with a musket!
His face looked like a cross between a stove and a rake.
And every time he was seen;
The children’s laugh would grow to a ruckus!
He’d scream back things so obscene,
That  even insects fled the scene!
And he sounded a hen playing trumpet.
His tears would roll down his big bucket face,
Subdued; he would walk down the street,
With a simple trumpet of Fuckit’

why.
what is the point of all this?
why do humans bother with such useless games
bother with pointless escapades
all we are is glorified beasts
******* between every feast

eat.****.eat.****.eat.****
****.eat.****.eat.
eat.****.
th­e food is rotten to those who hear
the buzzing of flies in rotting flesh
the stench of deep regrets
is sweet to those who forget

why.
what is the point of all this?
why do humans bother with such useless games
bother with pointless escapades
all we are is glorified beasts
half asleep

illusions of grandeur filling our brains
dreams as sweet as the buzzing of flies
why bother?
why?

dreams are fantasy.
nothing more.
what we want,
what would make hearts soar.
waiting for a window or door,
what pleases us to our very core
dreaming too long simply gives you bed sores.

why.
what is the point of all this?
why do humans bother with such useless games
bother with pointless escapades
all we are is glorified beasts

we exist for one simple thing.
babies.
again, again, and again.
All we are is gilded beasts
writhing in a lustful heap

Apathy,
it is a beautiful thing,
prevents any cares.
Any worries.
Prevents us from feeling a thing.
Day in.
Day out.
Drama and angst dilute out.
Their acid,
now no more caustic than water.

A toast to apathy's sweet embrace.
A wince to the wines bitter aftertaste.
Give me some sugar with my ***.
I can get drunk and forget
that acid on my tongue.

A toast to apathy's sweet embrace.
To her sugared veins,
to her sweeter lips.
To her wonderful poison,
numbing out:
pain
shame
and guilt trips.

Give me some sugar with my wine.
I want to forget.
I want to hide.
Just cling to that bony chest,
and pretend everything is fine.
...
...
...
But it’s not.
I just don’t care whether,
It is.
Or isn’t,
anymore.

Does the bearer know their face is encased in plastic?
a cage of latex and fake hair.

Does the wearer realize what their mask is?
or simply mistake the mask for flesh of theirs?

what happens when you cut the elastic,
expose the real person
under there?

what remains
of the masks life?
who will remain,
when true faces show?

Only one way to know.

Here is insult to injury,
here is rock salt for your misery,
to further bruise and ****** needlessly.
Here’s salt for your wounds.

Here's the truth,
naked and uncouth,
tis simply th’ sooth.
Look not for sugared tongues and candied lips.

(Such are *******.)
Look not for chameleons, molded to fit,
Nor jesters dancing in horses bit.

Too eager to please, too scared for any risk.

the pain of rejection pre-forming it’s tunes,
driving away lady luck with whips and hardship.
making relations short, and conversation brisk.

Let me keep my wagon,
let me keep my horse and cart-
your bullet train pulling me along,
is pulling it apart.
quick quick
hurry scurry
this rushing along,
is leaving me behind,
losing me,
he who prefers not to sprint.
he who is of a slow steady gait.

lost time is time lost
and idle thoughts feed on things as these
affections turn to annoyance
patience to pain
speak all you like
it’s almost too late
not much time remains
before apathy shows her face
stealing me away
from our waiting game
take your turn,
with a simple caveat
the rules forget not-
---
once a week
and all is fair play
exceed this-
and the game rules twist-
and change.
come roll the dice
see if it’s fatal
this twist of time

---
find what time has been lost
make it if you must-
remember-
patience to pain
and apathy’s sweet foreplay
leads to ashes to ashes
and dust to dust.

The more I hear the more I’m disgusted,
by the fact that I have any relation to these.....
Crude creatures;
classless;
shameless beasts with no insight, or self reflection; no clue what they want; why they hurt; refusing to question;
refusing to even admit there's a problem to begin with.

Drugging themselves with god knows what.
Drowning themselves in that fondly and excessively drank poison,
we all love our al-co-hol,
but not our livers,
nor our lovers;
it seems.

why?

such things only numb the pain
pain one could avoid simply by confronting it;
addressing the problem,
and dealing with it.

so what use is simply numbing pain;

again why?

the hour you go without a visit from mistress jane
the minute your foul intoxicating stream(river?) runs out;
the second your angel stops giving you her dust to snort from her bust;
the millisecond you lose the trail of the golden dragon

it has you by the throat
pain.
memories.
guilt.
shame.
humiliation.
pain.
memories.­
guilt.
shame.
humiliation.
{viscous cycle is it not?}
the sick little game is over.
the hiding is over.
guess what!
life has found you-
and it always will.

morphine, *** and *****
crack, acid and shrooms
lovely playing pieces
lovely game
but in the end, it will end
all games end someday.

Lustrous tones,
and vibrant hue,
calls affection fingers,
clear and true.

Amber thorns,
guard beauties stem.
The more stunning the rose,
the sharper the ends.

there once was a true bloom
petals dripping off in tune
serving as playing pieces
affections unhealthy game

blood  red on satin black,
petals turn to silk; and are put back.

red is passion; also blood and pain
yellow is death; for sickly gains
white is purity; ready to be stained
yet cut out of silk,
they are all the same.

silken crimson
in place of roses red
live to the eye
yet to the touch, dead.

Some are the tundra, even- frozen smooth
Composure of permafrost, a stare of piercing blue
love, lust and affection, just amusements and games
numb with winters cold comfort
detachment comes across as aloof
Hidden by a tongue as slippery as ice
shrouded by a multi faceted coat shining
blinding
bending light
and bending will
before moving in for the ****

Some are deserts-extensive sun blasted sand
Intense burning passion
bright enough to peel skin
living, lively and loving but ever moving on
gone with a slip of the hand at the rising sun

Some are the seas-beauty untold
possessing a sirens voice ever in a sweet tone
a toast to sweet seductions call
and those who rode the calm too long
Unheeding of the red dawn

Some are the forests deep and alluring
wander at your own risk, you find the trees are moving
kick a skull here a knock over a femur there
all  quested too deep and became caught in trap and snare
beware all who enter there

some are the mountains-as deep as tall
a roller coaster of emotions
wind echoing emptily through valleys and peaks
everything of real importance
all the deep secrets
held in caves equally deep

The question is where do you fall
are you the icy calm?
the passionate sand?
The sirens call?
The trees shadow?
Or the mountains roots?

Are you one?
or two or all?
Indeed
where do you fall?

Gone are the strings,
tying wings to sides.
Gone are the eyes,
and passive aggressive sighs.
Gone is the pseudo flight.
Which carried none of true flights delight.

Up here -
it’s all clear-

For,
up here, we are
no longer love blind.

Looking back from a mile high:
Viewing mountains climbed.
Rivers crossed,
and foes fought.
All for the same one,
who clipped my wings.
Who severed me from the sky.
And put blinders on my eyes.

In resolutions dawn.
Wings shine red.
The strings and blinders that held us back,
now forgotten and dead.

There is never a moment’s pause,
In a mothers love.
This I know for a fact,
Because-
Mama, you are always loving,
Mama, you are always there.
Be it laundry,
Or finding things homes,
And for me, putting them there.

There was never moment’s pause,
Never a moment’s doubt,
Only thinking of ways to thank you,
Thinking of ways to return it as you do
To be there for you,
As you are for me.
Unconditional love,
Clear as already boiling water for tea.

You’ve been the best mother a man can hope for,
And then a little more-
You planted my kindness,
Nurtured my compassion too.
The good in myself,
I attribute to you think who?

Your love made home warm and inviting,
A place to cherish and miss when not there.
Even now, your little touches,
Still stay to remind me,
Of the deep bond we share.

Thank you for your love,
Thank you for your care,
It means the world to a son-
To know,
That no matter what,
Mama is there.

Of five of eight
Which are also three,
One is part of me.
But lacks might.
For I, am simply I.
Yet, two are part of you.
One is missing, but it makes itself seen,
By being bold, down three.

Of three,
The first, second and third are akin,
Sisters not of blood to you or I,
Yet family nonetheless.

We begin with the first:

Of age she is a little off center.
And not part of any knot.
Nor a moth, in spider web caught.

The third, The eldest bakes with great skill,
But lacks zeal when using yeast.
None the less,
Her second cousin, in quantities, Vast, consumes each complete batch.

When together,
I and the sisters mostly disagree.
Though you do not,
Only the youngest and eldest,
Get along together it seems.
You and the eldest are quite close,
And all speaking together,
Form one phrase
In praise.

It was just a kiss
and now I can’t ****.
Who’d have thought rejections
touch could hurt so much.
Next time, I’ll wear a cup.