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In the tomb of my memories
I lie stretched out like some limpering anusmachine
staring into itself for eternity, transfixed by machine eye

I wish there was a nicer way to say this
but there isn't -

memory defines our actions in life
we are prisoners to our past
and nailed to our fates
such as whimpering
such as being pathetic in public
such as drawing from the circuits the
treachery of turds descending

Morning ****,
Oh the release.
This made me laugh hahaah
One is an ape clothed in illusionary gold,
the other, apes with the pretensions of angels-
floating in the citadel of muses.

Both burn in the end,
both smother each other in the finality
of themselves.
You **** ***** apes!
Descending upon a barren desolate wasteland
a true zone of infinity
and depth one sees the crutch one
carries into the ocean of plenitude
and gluttons bearing torches
snigger under death breath
breath death
smoking cigarettes
in the carousal of fools.

The carnival of errors,
Life itself.
A mountain of flesh corroded wires burning
in an infinite black hole
a languid putrid stench amputation of self-
limbs digesting themselves
in a landscape of nothing,
nihilism the creed of kings
the death knell of the zero sum point;

praying to nothing
in the void of meaning
abstract nothing
noise on the television set
sick nurse
sick nun

putrid ***** on the mattress, wipe down
blood running through the network stretched
the howl of the living machine child
crucified to the platitude of its own vision

borne of man, none, abortion
aborted fetus, burning bright with eyes of circuit green
dying, death, the finality of reason

It was never real,
Accept it.
What I would call an industrial poem
I love you, they're the hardest words to say
but the easiest to engage in mind, sometimes.

Deeply flawed man I am,
drowning in my images
my escape from reality
well, sometimes, sometimes
face it head on;

I love the ways your hair soothes the storm,
within, blasting the wolf from it lair, your
hand softens my tense frame, this
pen shakes.

I love your flaws, they seal my wounds and I too
can help seal and heal yours.

There is no but here,
it's from the heart, so take it
eat, and let's dance amongst the stars
as sprits of the animal night,

I know it's sentimental
I can't help the way the woods made me,
carved out of clay, stay a little longer
make me happy, this is the way, lay
down and hold my hand as I slip,
I will grip yours when you trip -

Back into the mire, into the murk, we shall be together, forever
in these woods, two wolves amongst the sheep, howling at the moon,
is it ever too soon?

I don't think so, no.
Show me your heart -
I can take away the pain.

As I wane, I wane away in my ivory
tower - craned neck to the stars
I love you, don't explain -
I love you Yulia
no if's or buts,
no refrain.
a love poem
and I do too, my uncle
he gave me wings to dream on,
fed me when I needed feeding
not with food, no with dreams,
and for that I owe him everything.

That is why when he finally laid at his owl's rest
this owl wept, and saying goodbye, left
the final dream to rest.

Goodbye Uncle Bob, weaver of dreams,
and may a chorus of hooting owls
sing you to your last detail,
up there with the wise ones,
forever looking down -
with love.
My Uncle died recently, this is in his memory.
When I'm happy a tornado of o's and 1's cascade
from my heart, a why-
an endless carousel of binary;

But to be happy should be enough,
in those moments when I freeze and smile
I should ask for no more than that,

that last little star in the background
before the lights go dim,
and extinguish everything.
A poem about me and a poem about the universe and stars.
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