in english homes the buddha head is replaced by the christmas tree,
but i still prefer the existence of actual angels less popular than gabriel
with his koran, michael with his sword satan with his lie...
than compare men to angels or men to devils
rather than ensuring man remains a man
without comparison a godly comparison
which man discarded as easily weighed on the libra:
knowlesdge of atoms equal weight to the weight of limbs without torso de facto:
you just know there’s a celestial celebrity culture...
that might have survived if it survived on earth
with the span of a century executed as complete...
but since it didn’t... it seemed the lesser of the two reliefs:
one sided the one aim of attainment advertised
the un-attainable was preached by the priests of the ku ku klux clan...
and the latter half was preached by the brigade of social security
forces and other familiars / leeches and the fate of stipends...
capitalism outgrows itself in the realm it’s concerned with,
communism outgrows itself in the realm it’s not concerned with...
capitalism needs export... communism need import...
when a poet mentions money does he become an amateur poet
or a non-existent non-poet? i guess the latter...
given people could defend things that could have remained stones,
or given people could defend things that would have remained
grains of sand...
or that given people could have defended the shadows of
nodding branches of ******' breath dangling off them,
but given the people... not one iota made it into the alphabet
correcting... people spoke and that was the end of the meow...
the end that impregnated the woof...
once money was mentioned in a concerning way
the barbarian tribes merged into a society and societies
merged into capitals with ego per capita...
there was defence... of course... people defended their right...
but the sought nations among the barbaric multi-cultured
hegemonies that became quickly exhausted
learning to tailor many pockets into a one set of jeans:
the kenyan pocket, the slavic pocket, the caribbean pocket,
the irish pocket... but still one pair of english jeans;
the one pair of english jeans worn by a welshman...
the dragon versed lodging in a flag better with st. george moving...
all eyes to the united states, the prime-ministers of england said...
all eyes on the two-thirds of the fifty stars... three eyes on the stripes...
all sanity of language only claimed by the bestseller fiction rubric
none for philosophy, none for poetry... as long as there’s
a clear pronoun vector that narrates... we will have no other
methodology of acumen, other than the acumen of & in
a sequencing logic of one mistake made required
for the perfection of the much desired salivation for the pavlov
into a tango of a lost leg and subsequent limp encored by the crowd
of the proud primates leaving the hydrologic cycle
for the haemologic cycle of war among ourselves:
votes on the badger cull to save the hedgehogs!
260 aye, 201 naye. well, nevermind the redcoats
hunting the ginger furrballs.