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Oh prairies of paradise,

why do you dwindle in our grasp?

Do you not want to share in our expansion

of democratic duty?

What would you consider the proper path,

my plants scathed in acidic dew.

Do you feel the life leave the soil?

When your roots are outstretched for a water bed no longer located under you,

will you weep your petals knowing what is to come?

I weep for you prairies.





When smoke stacks stick from our lips

do you choke on the phlem expelled from our lungs,

tempting your wilted parts?

(There is water in there, just break it down with your

leaves and find the pieces you need.)

How rational do you view these rationalities?





Oh prairie please remember we care for your beauty,

but care not how it will stay. (How long will you wait?)

You have fought mother nature,

her winds and worst droughts,

but not knowing father time,

can you comprehend the offspring that is depleeting

and cheating you?

Will you weep when the bugs stop scratching your stems?

I weep as the bees leave and the beetles begin to belch

from their green guts after ingesting your roots...

for I know what is to come.

I weep for you prairies.





When blossoms are only pictures on walls,

you will unfortunately, be too soon forgotten.

I do not wish to deliver morose messages,

only to express to the winds in my ears

that I too, howl, and push through

(sometimes a destructive path, )

forever challenging and constantly changing.

Priairies, I too will one day wilt,

my memory too soon forgotten,

My prairies, I weep for you tonight.
We are living wonders.
Our bodies, our minds, our souls,
unfathomably intricate beyond all knowing.
The true essence our being,
a microcosm of unlimited possibility.

Living in wonder.
Behold the marvels of this vast universe.
Consumed by the mysterious unknown,
desperately we seek to understand it,
eagerly trying to grasp all that is.

Wondering why we live.
What purpose is there for our existence.
Many say this. Others say that.
All answers become more questions.
Forever we wonder.

We are living wonders,
Living in wonder,
Wondering why we live.
 Jul 2014 Porsche Newell
Auroleus
Some time ago in the furnace below
Grew restless the ruler of sin;
He dug through His closet
Composed a composite
Consisting of a violin.

The underworld rang with
Delectable twang
As Lucifer plucked on His strings;
E'en angels flew down
Allured by the sound
Til Cerberus plucked off their wings.

Eventually Satan grew bored of this, too;
That thrill-seeking ******* must capture the new;
So up to the land of the living He flew;
Disguised as a figure whom everyone knew.

First on the agenda of any pretender:
Extinguish the genuine soul;
He arrived in Genoa
Disguised as a boa
And silently swallowed him whole.  

With Europe His playground
The Devil, He made sound
That no one alive had yet heard;
He fiddled and plucked,
Gambled and ******,
Until inside Him syphilis stirred.  

His physical shell He now had to retire;
Back to the depths of the black and the fire;
Forever above will the humans admire;
The legend of strings; the king; the sire.
For Karen
I tried to write down my thoughts
but I couldn’t because they were coming too fast
Then I tried to type them and they got even faster
I tried to record them but they went through my mouth before I could breathe them
So I tried to hold them in, but they exploded from underneath my body
I can’t tell you where they’re coming from
because that body is gone
and here sits the rubble
MMXIII
There is a new word describing me
type one, type two, type three
nothing is as it once seemed
brown bandages become red, ******
catheters go up my urethra
when I refuse to take your drug test
by accident.
I'm clean, now, clean and pure
I take Abilify to make sure
and remember that it's all an imbalance
and remember that everyone else is balanced
and remember that the whole ******* world is balanced
on a tether formed by gravity
gravity-- the severity of this situation-- is lost on me
and on that tether we all walk
unbridled by the weight of our bodies
we can shake all that makes us human
and pathologize every thought crime
every idea needs to be cleansed
with a catheter into the brain
we would be able to test it for drugs
and find that all I was high on was existence
and how terrible it is
that we will all die
but that shouldn't bother a doctor at all, now
should it.
MMXIII
 Jun 2014 Porsche Newell
Auroleus
ha
 Jun 2014 Porsche Newell
Auroleus
ha
I have a cat.
I lied; I don't have a cat...

I pack heat so the ****** on the block don't **** with me.
I lied; I don't pack heat and those ****** **** with me every day...

I have oranges growing from orange trees in my greenhouse because I believe in growing my own food and living a healthy lifestyle.
I lied; I eat at McDonald's every day...

I don't do drugs.
I lied; I'm addicted to ****** and I'll abuse just about any substance you put in front of me...

I've got a lovely girlfriend who loves me just as much as I love her.
I lied; I'm single and lonely and I ******* like clockwork...

I write decent poetry.
I lied; This isn't a poem... it's a depressing heap of words I thought might pass for poetry...

I -
lied...

I'm actually extremely happy and optimistic and nothing in the world can stop me from achieving my--
*Yeah...right.
 Jun 2014 Porsche Newell
Auroleus
If humans had wings they would flock to the ground,
They would mine as they sing and dig underground towns,
They'll keep on a-diggin'
down diggy down down,
Till they dig up a well
And drown driggy drown drown.
They'll try with their wings to fly up to the sky,
But those tunnels are deep and all winding, no lie,
So they suffered, the lot of em, subterranean deaths
As they flapped and they screamed as they breathed their last breaths.
 Jun 2014 Porsche Newell
Auroleus
There seems to me a bitter irony
In cutting dope with my
Health Insurance card
On the cover of a
Book written by
Hunter S. Thompson...
 Jun 2014 Porsche Newell
Auroleus
And then a little voice inside me said,
"Maybe you should get out of bed,
Do more drugs
And play Skyrim."

So I did.
This isn't really a poem. I just started spewing my drug-addled thoughts on here because I don't want the majority of my face - folks on facefuck hearing about what I do and don't do regarding the use of drugs.

I also unplugged the controller and started to use the keyboard and mouse again. It's far more better with the games like Skyrim while using the mouse to drag your freshly meaty corpses around the ground and say, "Hey. Guards. I just killed a man. What the ******* gonna do about it?"
 Jun 2014 Porsche Newell
Auroleus
******* on what you think
may or may not pass for poetry.
what is or what isn't poetry.
what is intended to be...
what isn't that was intended to be...
what is and was never intended to be...

I've written ******* YouTube comments
that drew my attention after having accumulated
enough attention to where I declared that there
should be a Poem here. Hell. They were easy enough
on the ears. It's all about aesthetics, right?
If people are going to like my ******* comments
because they make them chuckle or ponder their sanity,
who the hell am I to say they're not poems?
how many poets are out there who just don't know it?
the twitter-critters, the instagram-crackers crackin'
crack rocks in they black socks at a white sox game
yelling at the top of their lungs,
"Abreu ya filthy Jew, *******!"

I digress...
*what a ******* mess
*******, ye bandwitch
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