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(a satirical pop at the Illuminati)*

It's time to slay fatted consumer cows
It's time to fumigate the Great Unwashed;
To sow mutation's seeds behind the ploughs
To see the dullard's dreams forever quashed.

How movingly they pray not to be harmed!
How doggedly they work to make a wage!
How prettily they line up to be farmed,
Yet, how they long to be at centre stage!

The Useless Eaters eat their pizzas deep,
Their double fries and creamy mayonnaise;
Produce only some methane while asleep,
And fodder for landfill, throughout their days.

It's time for the superiors to win;
Unleash the virus, let the cull begin.
the last time we
****** was pumped
with passion and
there was an extra
flavor there that I
am now proud to
admit was
              awkward.

You pulled your laptop
into the bathroom
and the picture was
so blurry that
I couldn't really
tell if you were
biting your lip
or grinning
insanely.
I was twisting
uncomfortably
in my bed,
trying to pose in a
way that didn't
feel as though
my legs would go numb
and drop off my
hips in ****** apendages
but that also
didn't cause my stomach
rolls to emerge
in a way that
suggested I could
be popped into
an oven and devoured.

The time before that,
We were ******* each other
goodbye. There were
black make- up stains
on your dorm room
pillow and some mixed
smells of regret and
my **** juice. You tried
to reassure me that
we'd stay in touch-
that you would *******
call. I promised I
would try to feel better
about the situation

but promises are
meant to be broken,
especially if they're made
by 2 ex-lovers at
four in the morning.

The time before that
was make-up ***.
I never told you this,
but I wasn't really
sorry. I
think I needed to
get ****** by that
other guy
    to prove to myself
that I was worth
fighting for.
(Besides, it's
not like you and I
were still together.)

The time before
that was on a Tuesday
before we had to
go to class.
(I always sat in front
of you, and we
would pretend that
the other didn't exist-
but your deep voice
sweeping the floor behind me
made it very difficult)
I remember
smelling your armpit
on my hand, and
wondering why that smell
got me so excited.

The time before that,
we both begged the
other to make love
to our sweet aching
lonely bodies while,
outside, the kids were
smoking *** and laughing.
My hands burned like
hellfire against the
back of your neck
and that sweet
melancholy sensation
and questions formed
inbetween our teeth
Do you still love me
        what will this
look like, come tomorrow?


Then, the time
before that, I
was ******* you
while alone in the
privacy of my room
(you were asleep in your bed, I'm sure)

I sobbed,
tugging at my *******
in a frenzy,
plunging into myself
so hard that the
next morning, I was
sore when I sat
down. The way
I imagined you inside
of me, back home
again which I guess,
at that point, is
where I thought
you belonged.
But now, I guess
I'm not so
                sure


The time before
that, we
were falling apart
and we both
knew it. I
think I lay numb,
underneath you,
going through the motions
thinking Thank God for
muscle memory. Without
it, I would be as
much of a robot on the
outside as I
felt on the inside.
And that would be
a ****** way for you
to find out that
I didn't love you
        anymore.

The time before that,
we were drunk
you asked me
a thousand times if
I was sure I wanted
to. You even made me
promise I wouldn't regret
it in the morning.
But promises are made
to be broken, especially
if they are made by
two drunk lovers at
four in the
morning.


The time before that,
we were in your
back yard.
The moon shone down
on us through the
willow branches.
I heard crickets.
  Just the right
amount of tipsy
   both of us pulled
our pants down
past our hips,
     you placed your
hoodie under my
***. I breathed in
the smell of your neck
I pulled you so close
I could swear our bodies
were going to melt
into each other

and the time
before that

was in the morning on
a saturday
         I kissed you
softly awake, pressed up
against your hot
skin under the covers
I swore I loved you

              and the thing
I have so far failed to mention

                   is that I
                           still do
i cried the other day,
laid my head down on the kitchen table and sobbed

no one was home.

no one was home.


i left wet drip drips on this piece of paper

where i was writing to you a letter
that started with
"Alex-"

and after three pages of anger and sadness
and "why are you doing this to me
why would you do this to me
right when i was finally going to be okay"

i ripped it up

and wiped my face

there was a pile of tissues, just like
all those days i cried in your room

when
you would try

try desperately to wipe away the tears


but we would always look
flustered and wet

like we had just run through the rain
 Oct 2013 JV Knight
sarah
i am not a poet.
poets are the sad ones awake at three a.m. mourning over the sad loss of their lover.
poets are the ones yearning to love, and to be loved the same.
poets are beautiful, dangerous and tragic. every word that they speak is a dagger in your side, the slow knife that cuts the deepest.
poets are the ones who realise the power of words, so they choose them carefully (they know they could be choosing their fate).
poets know that the absence of words is just as important as the presence.
poets are born, not crafted.
maybe i am a poet.
Monk tinks tonight
fine glasses clink
convivial banter
bubble pop blink

in breathing rooms
bit woofed and stirred
the smoke mint sound
we dare exhale

Monk swings about
a bell do ding
the huey blues
bird bops on wings

hips juicy moves
rubby mounds wet ****
slow drum rolls blow
dance steady bump

Monk rocks the house
the clock do tick
me feets be tappin
gonna busta trick

key ******* bounce
mouths all agape
we gettin down
like crazy apes

Monk’s muzik rides
a sonorous beam
levitatin hipsters
to places unseen

gosh groovy tunes
a **** good gig
we all stoked up
Monk we do dig  

Monk played alright
some swingin tunes
Happy B Day Monk
you over the moon

Thelonious Monk
(October 10, 1917 - February 17, 1982)

Thelonious Monk
with John Coltrane
Trinkle ******


10/9/13
Suffern
jbm
 Oct 2013 JV Knight
Amber S
tethered
 Oct 2013 JV Knight
Amber S
i guess i got wings inked on my shoulders,
because i think i’m some walking talking
stumbling
paradox.
one day i’ll fly away,
but crash into buildings, scraping elbows among
shattered car windows and
street lamps waiting to
die.
i’m a **** growing among rusty brick buildings,
admired, but confused on which way to
grow.
i am the sock that has no match,
i do not fit, the one puzzle piece that cannot squeeze.
sticking out awkward, desperately clinging on.
no more questions, no more assumptions.
you laugh because i have wings,
i cry because all i see are
feathers.
 Oct 2013 JV Knight
n
Uncurable
 Oct 2013 JV Knight
n
Does it feel good,
calling her a freak?
Do  you realize,
It makes her feel weak?

I hope your happy,
With yourself
Because she's at home
Going through hell

She sits in her room,
Tears down her face,
All you ever say,
Is she's a waste of space

She pulls out a razor,
Wanting it to end.
All she ever wanted.
Was to have a friend.

The deeper the cut,
The better she feels,
Do you feel bad,
That they'll never heal,

Covered in blood,
Tears on her cheek,
Crying at the thought,
It will happen next week.

Your word cut deep,
Worse than a knife,
And you still continue,
To destroy her life.

Week by week,
Year by year,
The words 'I'm sorry'
Are all she wants to hear.

To know someone cares,
Or at least feels regret,
Could be the difference,
Between life and death.

Weeks go by,
The apology isn't said,
The teasing gets worse.
She hears voices in her head.

Spur of the moment,
Her decision is made.
On her neck,
She feels the blade.

One last cut,
Will end it all.
One more slit,
Until the angel will fall.

You could have stopped,
Saved her from it.
But you didn't,
Why couldn't you quit?

Her fates have been decided,
You have to live with guilt,
All because of,
The depression you built.

A simple smile,
An apology.
And you wouldn't be hearing.
This eulogy.

I hope you feel guilty,
You had her chance,
But you ripped her to pieces,
Without a second glance.

She's uncurable,
Forever she sleeps,
You just sit there,
Continue to weep.

She's gone for good,
There's nothing left to do,
Her smile, her face,
Will always haunt you.
 Oct 2013 JV Knight
India Timpani
idk
I believe in weakness in numbers
I don't believe in peace
I believe in blindness in responsibility
I believe that ignorance is a decadence, something only people who are poor in spirit but rich in materials can indulge in
I believe in jealousy in silence and falsehood in religion.
In
Numbers in colors
And colors in infinite white spaces.
I believe in Saudi Arabia because the letters look cool, but
I don't believe in America because the seven letters look as if they should be stamped on a fast food bag rather than across a wheel of expensive cheese.
I believe in masculinity, and feminism, and gay marriage, and people that you just want to sink into because their name is spelled s-a-f-e-t-y.
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