The solder was pointed the wrong way
falling scrap metal through the Scrapyard's chute
"Please, be loved," it said,
"this automaton has nothing left for itself,"
resonating equally 'warm'.

the last thing that'll ever come out
a tired white blanket reading
"we're gone."

Grasses wheezing in the breeze
Hiding secrets underneath
A sun's rays through vegetation
Lighting crows's anticipation
Critters chatting on the bog
Calling out to me: "Ya hog!"

Apostle's ashes on the ground
To be masked by pollen abound
A crow's work washed up at rivers
Breaking its wonderful appearance
Critters chatting on the bog
Throwing thrash at me: "Ya hog!"

I just can't take my eyes away
From you, O nature, O my Love!~~~ ~ ~  ~   ~    ~

as I lay away
their chest is still coarse
from what isn't there.

underneath the puddle
whose cauldron it is in
something's missing

a foot three deeper
new branches lay
forcefully shed

              but for a moment
              at a midway point
              it looked complete
              its mirrored version

a mirrored version
it'll hunt
it'll yearn for
and break the mirror

the skies will take it far and wide
paint the skies its color fallen
the rain reflecting
if but for a moment.

god forbid you see the mirror
if but for a moment.

In the land we stay, at a time best forgotten,
A single trail was blazed with hope
For those who seeked it, and those who needed most
It brought the only absolution, the only life
in a defected soul.

Despite the fatherly intention, it was best taken with a layer of soot:
Flock carcasses, rotten, still stared back
Waste, its copper smell, stamped a curse for all that’s gone
And, at every step
parasites ate their way right through one’s meat;
Still yet, it wasn’t the worst that could come.

It took less than a day for it all to be gone
Hidden under layers of dust
But not of sand, such as those spread by thunder
Like it did so many times
But with soil dumped from machinstic wonders
And the Tsar’s wicked hands.

Blood. Red revolution
hero her narrator
invented the derailer
for the train spinning in spirals
driving in loops.
I can still see the looping point.

World-ending catastrophes, world wars,
crises,
had become cliche.
there were only personal tragedies
shovelled onto rows and rows of dingies.
I ******* love statistics, I'll throw myself in too.

Dear.
Hug your plushies.

she's too **** kind.
who am I to speak,
a passive dead partisan
who never even was with the front
against an empire of evil ready to **** us both
with comorbity of another ******* spiral
a victim in a roomfull of monsters
unfortunately too weak to die
with random icons of a red hero
the closest can only make things worse.

I hugged her plush. It was ergonomic.

In the lands I'm born, only known to those
Who've tamed the seas and plundered gold,
Who've peered with death on ferry's shore,
Who've lost their chance to spell what's known...

But, if a speck of their vision's spelled,
They'd rob those spells, and spell themselves
Whole accolades! On a visage,
that had enchanted them! On a visage,
that burnt like books within their hearts,
or souls, or whatever more
you might just have!

Then your ego-freaks'll take those spells
Spread to peoples them! Exploit them!
scream across the town:

"Save thou child!" (or "las enfánt!",
If that was something too low-brow;)
"It is down there...
In the darkness...
In the pipeline...
Waiting...
For the day to reveal Itself!
When it'll break our hollow glory,
And bring shame to all our past!"

Thank Heavens! and the lot that noticed
By whom the posters have been posted...

Yet still, it didn't matter
what apostles said,
How your wisdom's been corrupted
by demons doomed to grounded damnation—
You still go and shove ballots down the drain
You call your “liberated nation”...

In the end,
If you did dare to take a proper look,
If you shed the carapace of naysayers,
Past the smoke and mirrors,
From the grunge depths, reflected back,
through lense of eyes, into your mind,
You’d receive a Single Divine Truth:

if you do see me
you'll see nothing but a kitty
passing by quickly
so silly :33

All pieces fell to us perfect,
Slotted like a square in its hole
or a circle! It matter not,
It still took us there in the end.

On the outside of the pipeline
By the end of the occult session
You see: a carousel!
Of colours and threads woven through time,
Yarn spun with tribal glaze,
Maestro wielding the show of the Swan!

A Masquerade?
Or just another puppet show?
The meaning or distinction gone.

the universe is here
yet the world is not

i walked by people, they started new lives
i couldn't start it though. never bothered why bother now
the little i had is now gone
having paid for some heretic's vice

the universe is here
yet the world is not

left to walk about, look at stuff, even record it
no journaling will stop it
from blurring into utter mush
how'd it even get back there?

the universe is here
yet the world is not

floating in a fishy tuna can
kinda like the very thing it was made to look like
that i pretended to like to hunt back there
no home, no hope, no tat

the universe is here
yet the world is not

“of course we're better—look at what they've done”
is an argument i’ve lost against myself not once
better avoid them for safety's sake
just gonna wear this funny hat

the universe is here
yet the world is not

fishy fishy fishy fishy

the universe is here
yet the world is not

My ears had shrivelled
A soothing voice I’ve only felt
In dreams of mine before this yet
Before the night I’ve always kept
Fell upon me

“Have you forgotten how we spoke before?
Have you forgotten stacks of books
That we don’t need not anymore?”

And with it came a phantom grasp
A fuzzy feeling I have stamped
In every corner of my past
That made me free

“I wasn’t thee
Before our glorious connection
But could have been
If not for chance of inspiration!”

In the world of withered bones
Arrows shot with paving stones
I couldn’t help but step into the unknown...

“Shall we connect for once
Without the burden of the vast
Worldwide broadcast
Enjoyed by us
That made you free?”

I’ve flipped over, and witnessed those:
Long ears, big jaws, and eyes of bronze.

all that's felt is about the same
staring at you at no length
your sight forever blank.

play as radiators in winter
burst
its waters steaming across facades
failed
this part is cancelled
would've done it if I remembered how.

what a disgusting play, lack thereof
shove a stake in this ******* mind;
bears mentioning you're gone
and your sight's forever blank.

Noise and **** are all that’s coming through the window
as life is left dead and bare
Suppressed by screams of the ever present towers
like a wolf over a legless hare.

“Watch it!” you scream from the other bridge
as boxes take your view away
“Watch up!” they scream from above your field
as someone takes their breath away

The only thing to think of
at the dawn of another day.

Those who broke into the Altar
had only ever had the bravery to break,
But you were different.

Sight of ancient flannel
did not trigger a need
For lustful glamour
of an otherworldly deed;
You didn't see yourself
on a fancy cover
With a glossy texture
but only as, dare I say:
Just a guy who loves adventure...

As your horns feld apart
at sight of relic, me, or both,
It's signalling: a break of pace
an only paradise unbound...

Let us reach through the Altar,
Hike with me
My unrequited hero.

Black ink is all that fills these streets
these streets I've walked the same for years
 For years I read and retyped this poem
this poem printed and erased with black ink
 Black ink which is all that fills these streets
these streets I've walked the same for years
 For years I read and retyped this poem
this poem printed and erased with black ink
 Black ink whose plight we've lit astray
astray we'll light your dark away
 Away we'll sing his blight from you
you don't see it yet but four lefts here take you somewhere new.

 Black ink is all that fills these streets
these streets I've walked the same for years
 For years I read and retyped this poem
this poem that has no repetition
 but either ascension
 or recession.

the aquatorium’s legends speak
of a Captain Punishment
who takes with him
every recruit

his ship breaks waters uncharted
but familiar to all
the stars turn innavigable
yet constellations make image
we never see again yet never forget
and his harbours and ports?
oh dear
to his ports I've been
to his ports I've been

and you, young punk
may fret and yell all you want
but you'll too disembark
oh you'll too disembark.

Hundreds of thousands of files
spread across
Built, nailed, welded together
As hundreds of thousands of faces
you've seen them all:
The contributions are standing
like monuments!
Rays to the skies
rocking the aerial block
For such is our game
the electric madness
Block-rocking genius.

Since I climbed up this hill
I see past the sea or a steppe:
a great fire! burning the leftovers
of grease and filth
that created this scorched earth;

I can only pray
it spreads over here too.

By the meadow a jigsaw puzzle gets completed
Basked in moonlight from the mountain
Left and right, pieces go, left and right.

All the naughty caterpillars and the bugs
Share their naughtiness crawling through the pieces:
Left and right, they spread, left and right.

Such naughtiness is best kept secret!
Even if the darkness makes no promise
It's best kept hidden in its arms!
Left and right, nothing goes, left and right.

City lights blazed past completely indefenseless
shooting a futile attempt at yet another imprisonment
reminding only the fuel for how we came...

...Sun’s crescendoed, seeing us short-of-breath,
short-of escape, they brought their reckless justice:
but this is it, this is where it ends,
and they’ll take what we wished.