Tongue tied on double speak
I’m counting off diseased freckles
Waiting on a fragment to leak
This house sure sounds bleak

Miss Mary found hysteria
In a pillbox prescription
Developed quite the predilection
And overriding addiction

Her infant Michael drank Drano,
He found under the sink
Life stripped in a blink
Should have had a child lock, one would think

Arthur vanished with the birth of a daughter
He thought the whole notion was too big a bother
Left the girl alone in life
To struggle though adolescence without a father

Claire, the good one, wasn’t without her faults
All she did was babel
About her family life or lowly rabble
Confucius orders you to cease this gabble

Ear warped on endless noise
I’m counting off diseased freckles
Thinking up ******* ploys
Or perhaps I should just lose my poise

Crescendo rising to torture the orchestral lull
Broke backed break beats, hound the exhumed hull
Waltzing off with the sounds of silver
Revoked in half measures by a cold sweat shiver
……………………………………………………………………………………
The aft bowed to its keel,
Scorpion shaped contorted steel.
It’s crescent figure draped on the horizon
Lulled to sleep by the house paid siren.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Sloppy soaked balsa kicks back reverence through the feed
Cracks in crackling, evident of disintegration in the reed.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Poppy poked ventricles provoke elegance through need
Rats in shackling, petulant for the absolution required to concede
……………………………………………………………………………………
Unbuckling at middays light
Caustically aware of approaching night
Collective need provokes a search for a scout
No one wants to leave their stash in the middle of a drought
……………………………………………………………………………………
Crashed and burned on grassless shoals
A boat full of users without goals
Left to withdrawal on barren land,
Hollow shores of endless sand

Concerns held as laden
Toxic contagion
Leveled with a thetan
Embodied by satan

Cast its presence in philanthropic light
Take up the cause of an international plight

Meaning held to juxtapose
The congregation of those
Holding up their nose
For a lie they chose

Join a syndicate of shell game dealers
Collecting charitable gains

Join the big game wheelers
Motivated by social pains

Bleed the weak to feed the meek
And go to bed on a good night's sleep.

Demarcation embossed on her skin, puncture point left with a pin
Fishnet stockings for the masses, Wiccan enjoyed in classes.

Personality goes from void to resigned, alternate progression good and primed.
Keen eyed father takes it all to heart, seeing his daughter’s wrist opened with a part.
Packs up and moves them all down to San Tropez
Hoping freedom in peace would take it all away.

Clean cut, concise and thin, award worthy with a stellar grin
An esteemed academic decathlete, salacious in the recesses of his sleep

Pressure mounted at too harsh an angle, fell back on those that dangle
Clean and cut with a proclivity for exposure, an outlet to relinquish his composure.
Packed up and moved down to San Tropez
His father thought it could take it all away

Fed and bred on notions of sin, premature birth, no more spin.
Baggy-eyed and caught in heat, the reasons that led her to cheat.

Husband took it as the answer to a problem, the baby could no longer haunt him.
She fell back into a deadlock stare, her husband thought it was a prolonged glare.
He packed them up and moved down to San Tropez
No amount of travel could take that all away.

Two by two, to Timbuktu, watching the preamble to his vegetative state
Rope-a-dope, a cautious *****, setting to fire from the gate

Flame surged, feet merged…swept up in a seamless blur
Awareness urged, the white flag’s purged…hallmark in corner paid slur.

Back fed, delusions said, motivation slow to percolate
Quick feed, slow bleed, letting the skin marinate

Light stab, swift jab, birthed through motion
Re-run, high spun, bringing about commotion

Objectivized meat, rinse-repeat, turn a hook to roll the page
Ref stalls, opponent falls, strobe lights flood the stage

Roll to ten, count and spend, nothing goes unchanged
Two to one, sign and done, it’s all prearranged

Marched in step
Toting a little red wagon
Stride carried pep
Dragging that little red wagon

Weathered in rust
Creaking in the sun
Covered in dust
It weighs a ton

Overburdened by basic trinkets
Remnants of Christmas 05
Macaroni made cumulonimbus
From school days off winchester drive

Photo of family for evidence
Not that it means a thing
Victim of malevolence
Thrown out in early spring

Winter brought about the cough
Toting a little red wagon
His whole system seems off
Dragging that little red wagon

He's feeling old
Went and turned lethargic
Held onto the cold
Wallowing in hardship

Deterioration apparent
There's something horribly wrong
Behavior aberrant
His strength is gone

Innocence in tow
Holding onto reactionary bliss
Writing name in snow
...Blood marked abyss

Death encroaches.
He falls before his little red wagon
A young boy approaches
And steals that little red wagon

This split stick fucksicle... there it goes again, circling the drain...creating a distraction, truth in obfuscation... and, amongst it all, throughout the fall, there it holds, a heavy shadow tugging at her will, distended from an unearthed and then uprooted olive branch...to remain in stasis, and display the prophetic delusions of subversive prophets...who never seem to promote such blatant exhibitionism