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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
only a scouse inhabitant could have pointed it out (merseyside english / liverpool) to no better comparison.

i'd love to have the salt & pepper dilemma
between low alcohol sessions and
high ******* session, just did the low
alcohol sessions and laughed, after having
become equipped with marijuana "abuse"
starving / fasting, never gearing for chips
and munchies...
the streets of london look a lot different
walking about high & hungry
rather than jokey and as a jockey of an
imaginary horse...
god made sanity and soberness an ivory tower
that was not worth defending
unless for manual tasks... all other tasks
were never ready for the multipliers of human presence,
not all of us would hammer a nail
for all the scratches of a vinyl disk if all were able.
indeed the scouse lad knew it,
languages that clung to latin were left historically
naked, without diacritical marks,
instead they delved deep as to upkeep the latin
they forced the closure of grammar schools
along with coal mines...
and what they earned was not a sense of categorisation,
english slosh tongue said the 18th century
happened akin to the abhorrence of moral relativism
by socrates to make stab in the eye a ******,
to thus say bronze age was but a hundred years...
keeping latin naked as it was by the abhorred
conquered land of the romans due to its bad weather
may have made a milton or a shakespeare arable...
but because of a certain type of censoring not ever used,
what became beautiful in other european tongues
became the ugly spelling of the english tongue,
what became stress marks of "accent" for the french,
and german, romanian and polish,
there was none of that in english, instead
we became accustomed to aesthetic "marks", that
were "marks" because there were no actual examples
for a clear rubric... instead we received too many examples,
the particulars of why we wrote the and said a sharpened v
in written form v'eh off veer...
there are no unitary aesthetics marks other that words
themselves... rather than what we have in terms
of unitary diacritical marks of akin umlaut...
there's no where else to go... the Minotaur has caught
up with us and our shadow! there's no labyrinth to further
our heaving lung to cheat both silence and breath! there's isn't!
it's the end... not using diacritical marks on units
only creates aesthetics of multiplying units
where they are multiplied: riddle... mirror...
                 keep, kettle, leer, pass, throttle, amiss.

(the syllables are not perfectly connected,
therefore much of "coining the phrase"
with prefixes anti- con- un- sub-
being endeared into your vocabulary,
then again clearly, accenting and aesthetics
compare to reach a parallel,
never leave it naked i say, never leave it naked,
for fear of reprisal of that which ought
be buried still alive, and with clear
acuteness for certain letters appropriating
there is no originality in the british tongue
for origins of the a - z under virgil
who originated the letters to the plagiarism
of grecian theology with the trojans
moving from turkey to italy -
therefore you become akin to other european
nations enacting a parasitic semblance
for the simple reason of ease coupled
with the many "loop holes" of the tongue,
or you reach absolution with the missing diacritic
as reasons for the modern acronyms: l8r, o.m.g.,
b.a.e., i.r.l.... all of this crap is a byproduct.)

but to say latin is dead, you must recreate the latin
alphabet with an ethnic particularity of a modulation
that might be compared to the migration of goths /
huns / vandals... to say 'latin is dead' and keep the
latin a without a modulation to craft an ą,
is a darwinian heresy that demands counter-evolution;
there's hardly one coliseum in london, although
i admit plenty of football stadiums;
still the evolutionary need is still necessary
and consistent, because it's not the case of the three
wise monkeys seeing, hearing saying no evil...
if this phonetic geometric is to survive and the crucifix
not be a vanity shield of artists due to the wrathful lamb,
it will need to specify whether it's gaelic english,
welsh, australian, london based, come home county based,
arizona or texas draw.
Cory Childs Dec 2010
The hole spews out disease and rot
devoid of fleshy substance
Engrossed by such a gruesome plot
I gulp the zombie's pretense

What makes the morbid fascination
justifying obfuscation?

Now, I see there is no sense
in coining truth that's hardly grown
One thing I've come to understand:
exploit their fear of the unknown
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
it comes from casual phrasing of / off something, the known pride & joy of any intellectual: coining a phrase. most stick to the cliche zeitgeist, i invented zeitreich (empire of the times, rather than a holy ghoul)... anyway...

so i'm reading this article about the L.A. dating scene,
it's better than a binge on horror movies
in a thunderstorm - the pictures aren't there,
but the words are, words, such is their nature,
the awkward silence amplified with encoding -
pristine ****** and any other -ism you can
think of - amateur psychology for starters,
Nietzsche made psychology so pop as if
it were the once despised arithmetic reinvented
that the calculator looks grim reaper-ish
(and everyone's a psychologist these days) -
writing extended maxims (i.e. aphorisms)
is a chance to avoid dialectics, i trust the rigidity
of the systematic approach, limited vocabulary
and the act of juggling, set parameters, known
formulae, and off we go into the labyrinth of Hegel
or Kant or some other German and his morose boozed-up
persona of a Minotaur - but this article, it just poured ants into my
underwear about the iceberg conundrum (i misspelled
that first time round, the English language, due to
its lack of diacritic marks and too many particularities
cistern, cat, crow, kettle, camomile... chamomile...
cheap... has an inherent dyslexia in it, very natural, this,
it's the least bit surprising, never mind mentioning
text English as written by one girl in the news
at her English G.C.S.E. exam - i can't write it properly,
but it involves the Pandora of U w8 4 me @ th-     -θ
school gates - oh right, the ****? chew but you say ski
resort paraphenelia, paraphenalia, paraphenilia, para
**** **** ****... dictionary! paraphernalia... thank you!
nwt the origin of the negated-ease (disease), what two
compounds am i not remembering to use? etymology,
scalpel nurse, cut open the syllables, technique:
para-     -phernalia...     well from chemistry para-
using the benzene ring is a location, i.e. para meta ortho-,
medieval latin! of course! no wonder i'm dyslexic with
this word, if the origins aren't pure Latin or Greek
then i'm sure to be dyslexic and burn witches at the stake
and believe in omens and hell... this is hell, resurrected,
-phrenalia: cut up further into a derivative of
pherein (to bear, modulated into a dowry), and
the ς-suffix of -al, like et al. i'm guessing, but this is
kabbalistic territory right know, -al doesn't exactly make
aqua sense unlike Al (aluminium) - that's when
chemistry picks up language, and other sciences, picking
up from the little nits (knit, gnome, knife... hush the first letter),
in the end paraphernalia means:
to have bearings side by side, or beside, at one side...
daydreaming? having a meal in a restaurant on a Saturday,
but realising you have mortgage obligations from
Monday to Friday? well, i guess something like that.
anyway, literary coinage, coining a phrase, a catchphrase
moment, so this article about the L.A. dating scene,
horrid mothers of artefacts in the woman's psyche,
the unflavoured Freudian theory of the Madonna-*****
complex... and all the ladies say... it's easier for us
to call these men schizophrenics and shove them into
the hyphenation than acknowledge either Madonna
or ***** in us... i get it, men watch too much *******,
but... here it comes... women watch too much
romantic tragedy (romtra), men go out there and they're
like... this is turning out to be an R.E.M. song
the one i love* - props! too many ******* props!
it's not exactly **** culture, that's about five minutes
simulating an **** with your hand (or if you prefer a
bony ****) and a tissue but no tears... it's not exactly
RomTra culture either... it's the dating culture per se...
and this whole self-profiling like we're all F.B.I. agents
spying on ourselves with either authenticity or lies.
so there, you have your literary coinage, a phrase, a word,
the most belittling quest to some El Dorado ever
invented.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
a. aristotle's nonchalance in comparison to his other ideas when investigating the lagoon (although wrong on the no. of teeth in a woman's mouth and the origin of flies from rotting fish - two jars, one open, the other covered - he treated his theory of adaptation of an animal / in humans on an individual basis - with less concentration of necessity for the theory to be expanded than his logic or poetics) - i.e. it was not good enough to be made dogmatic, like darwinism, therefore aristotelian darwinism does not exact a necessity to put the theory akin to a theological standpoint.

b. 'the darkened mind, whether that be by illness or some other cause illuminates in reverse to the mind of the plateaus: the stark difference is that the darkened mind attracts light like a moth into it, although it does this attraction without ever revealing the pin-point, the last revealing point of what the light has to illuminate, it's no good providing this point in a reference to psychology searching for the "ego" of that known existential notative abstraction working on the basis of the pro-verb: know your self. the darkened mind is in fact providing the basis for the search of nothing, and a subsequent of offshoot of what knowledge nothing provides: whether that's geology, pharmacology, chemistry, physics, or any of the humanities - although the humanities actually provided the basis for scientific study, since it was poetry that was criticised, and provided the basis for the two socratic pillars: knowledge of your self | knowledge of nothing - without a critique of poetry none of the subsequent investigations beginning with a non-empirical study that's philosophy would still be among the crumbs of history and stone of the parthenon. subsequently the mind of the plateaus simply regurgitates via regression to a known origin, it illuminates with knowledge that was hidden for a while, esp. during the times of illiteracy, which made it easier, although these days almost every man is literate, he is still illiterate in the sense that he prefers images to words / symbols... he's being fed a second illiteracy even though he is literate, therefore whatever knowledge is provided, it's immediately hidden, hidden via the use of images to distract, because words and the symbols that create them are not of an ontology of distraction, but harsh / labouring engagement - esp. if they are not used for the utility of speech, but made solely cognitively optical, they resonate with a double decker bus filled with about 90 people and only one person reading a book.

c. ah the introduction is over, and then the actual poem,
if i could remember it exactly,
it dealt with a cartesian contemplation
dealing with an extension from the trinity model,
what was the extension model? what was the basis
of it? i remember noting that the mind of the plateaus
originality came only with coinage of phrases,
i.e. coining a phrase, or simply crafting a
new compound from words rather than chemical
derivatives... the philological monstrum
of a fixed prefix like sub- or un-
and then the all encompassing suffix
like -conscious - and then some grand complication,
like the word oedipus becoming a complex,
and this complexity reaching a point
where no original idea can be encompassed,
because what's required is the practice
of creating and using an analogue,
so that those in the range of the intended
gesture do not have to go further in their reading
but further their practice: a draw of stars...
none longer or shorter than the other,
all uniform... one shoe fits all story...
i mean how can words conjure ideas
(esp. original ideas) if words are intended
for meaning, and solely that?
ideas come when the intended usage of
such symbols as a - z are not expressed in
how they were intended to be expressed:
pre vox. if you spend a long time with these
symbols in the optic area rather than the
larynx area... you'll find the holy grail of
crafting and fathoming ideas...
philosophy begins here... seeing rather than
the utility of these symbols... to see with them
rather than to speak with them... after all...
think twice before saying something stupid.
i'm still bothered by that cartesian connection,
how did i manage to tangle in the one third
of the equation: substance, thought, extension?
what the hell was i comparing to make that
analogy? surely it wasn't a way of working
from the way existentialists abstracted
something concrete as an identity and decided
to do the pontius pilate of washing their
hands clean of any responsibility using the ditto
marks? sure this abstract enclosure for an identity
(in phonetic units expressed as ego)
cannot have stable if not merely sane grounding
in all serious theoretic engagement by the logic
of being a possessor of a soul;
first they dispossess the people's confines
of the soul's existence, later they come after thought,
and it's there, the proof, like today in the supermarket,
me waltzing for my intended purchase,
and a horde of zombies bewildered by
the abundance of products... standing about the aisles
mouths open, ready for the wind to change
direction and their mouths perpetually opened
with the medussa wind... or simply waiting for
the next pigeon to do his duty on a copper statue
of churchill outside parliament sq., bleached crop
of hair with **** in it.
honestly... the zombies are coming...
first they fool the people that they have no soul,
backed up by the logic of a soul that, when
compounded (i.e. psychology) makes it sounds
important, like an edict by the house of windsor
about to make rise to the 2nd lord protector
via a re-emergence of oliver cromwell...
then they decide to invade the parameters of thought,
they used psychology (the existent non-existence
of the soul) to banish all original thinking...
thought has become banished into hades...
if the soul is not allowed in the body, then
thinking surely isn't either, and how did they do it?
they said: the existent non-existence of the soul
will convince thought to disappear, making
the body virtually mirror like invisible -
like a black kid before the social revolutions
at the back of the bus, before the old lady stepped up,
and yet in the 21st century, the old minotaur is there
at the gate of the new labyrinth; in my school days
all the black boys sat... well... you guest it...
at the back of the bus... so much for the old lady
making a stand.

d. as the title suggests i was working up to a crescendo,
i was about to mention the sort of confusion cuneiform
might have provided had it existed in writing
but not in thought, although we write with latin symbols,
i'm sure that our thinking is still ingrained in
the coming of the three magi and the loss of cuneiform,
all the many offshoots of christianity you'd think
we were living in babylon, where the king went
mad, and the hebrew architects scratched their heads
so hard and so long that it caused the babylonian
king to become sensitive to scratching sounds,
he ran out of the palace screaming:
'cockroaches! cockroaches everywhere!'
then the enslaved hebrew architects just said:
but sire... gardens upside down? earth above sky?
how will that work... we did the pyramids,
perfect geometry, perfectly understandable geometry,
but garden that grow trees upside down?
didn't you hear the greek theory of how trees grow
by eating the earth from below, rather than above?
'cockroaches! cockroaches are nibbling!'
so i did end the poem i lost via a message on the screen...
jimi is dead, forget jim.
i ended it by noting the admiration of the romans
when it came to the mausoleum at halicarnassus,
persian design, intended for mausolus,
so admired that the word mausoleum gained
popular public everyday usage status,
a bit like a war-pig / war-dog in the legionnaire army,
above the general's servant: does battle...
doesn't do pampering with perfumes.
seems fair enough, got the warring grunts / barks,
runs miles with the horses, has a piquant snout and tongue
for human flesh... plays dead, finds mushrooms
beneath the slain... speaks broken german war-cry...
perfect for combat... not really perfect for my quarters of rest.

e. what does it really matter, this 200,000 million
or thousand year old historical co-ordinate?
the chinese were drawing dragons with the welsh
concerned with st. george long before dinosaur
bones were unearthed; if this isn't an example
of the jungian collective unconscious of being
"clued-in" then i don't know what is...
esp. given that not even 2000 thousand years of
history fits into my brain when i boil
a kettle filled with water in 5 minutes...
smoke a cigarette in the same amount of time,
it makes no sense to "pump iron" so much
when practising history to go as far back as that,
it makes in-the-moment living so far detached
from life per se, that you begin to wonder
why we went further than the epic of galgamesh
(where all western take on history begins)
or the upanishads... when the caste system
became operational: from dark skinned sri lankans
to the masters on the boarder of the himalayas:
un-believable... racism within a society
that did not expand into colonialism...
strange to have kept the blue indians in mint condition
due to the cuisine... and have slaughtered the red
indians keeping them a minority to such an
extent as to keep them in nature reserve parks...
black president is a phenomenon? a slave, former,
is a phenomenon? i puppet i suspect...
get a native on the top seat and their will be
less jubilation i gather.
but that blue indian word for demon: rakshasa...
from the serialisation on the t.v. entitled indian summer...
the h as silent as in dhaal?

f. if something profound has happened to you,
and you want to speak about it,
remember to take hold of the psychiatric buffer,
this buffer zone will enable you to see
an atypical sociological reactive compound
of the ****** expression, it will reveal
who you can reveal a secret to,
after all, psychiatry is all about listening,
therefore not thinking, therefore not doubting,
therefore actively engaging with the precursor
negation... sartre to descartes:
i use too many punctuation and "punctuation"
marks, therefore i can't couple thinking with
doubting, i must therefore couple thinking
with negation... descartes to sartre:
i always knew that even though we salvaged
the latin alphabet by adding the diacritical marks,
our punctuation and style would get the better of us...
what's the point of ć ń ś ó if we have
the capsule of " " to mind in terms of what words
are allowed a blessed disunion from meaning
when over-used esp. when you to deceive rather
than covey orthodox meaning?
Chris Jun 2015
^

You got change for a dollar
At a quarter past seven
Then turned on a dime
And found pennies from heaven

Saw fifty cent pieces
Turn nickel to gold
When that old silver dollar
For two hundred bucks sold
A road that diverges
Starts at a point
And plies in two directions.
Where these roads meet
You hear two different heartbeats;
One of a boy,
One of a girl.
They were destined to be,
But they walked in a V
Separating themselves
From what God only sees.

Walking astray from each
They continue to grow distant.
Not a word to be said
Just a silent whisper,
“This connection will not whither.”
A mental image
Remains in the mind.
Though they are disjoined
Their hearts have been coined
To become reunited
No matter where they end up going.

Heading on the right track
Senses begin to kick in.
Though it is not yet known,
Their love is already scripted
It’s just, love likes to remain encrypted.
It’s not random;
It’s fate.
Their paths begin to converge,
But they still lack the nerve
To acknowledge what’s inside
And let the love emerge.

It’s coming to a point
Where everything’s inevitable.
The obvious feels right;
Plight is soon to be made.
Fate begins to pervade.
With two precious rings
They promise
To love each other forever
On this journey to endeavor.
Hence the coining of the phrase,
“Diamonds are forever.”
Fairy tail story with a nifty meaning.
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2018
Before
I started to respect
myself

There was
no such terms
like, ego

Remember
Genre: self
Theme: Sometime so many somebody understand me. Sometime so many nobody understands me. A touch of thought.
Bobbie McCord Nov 2016
donald-trumpaphobia
college **** culture
women's rights
global warming
social inactivity

ISIS and extremists
melting ice caps
who crash into deep water, gone, undone
lack of civility in millennials

technology enhanced cyborgs
whose eyes have been surgically sewn to a screen
family issues and self-created isolation
coining yourself the black sheep
to compensate for the need of attention

even if its the wrong kind
one upping to feel important
even if it means leaving your sister in your shadow
the need for narcissism and self-obsession
self-praise and prickly conversations

held at arm's length because we can only stand to be around you
for a few minutes at most and
I yell at you but you do not take in my words
you listen not to understand but to reply

talking to you is more work than talking to a brick wall
which you've build around yourself because if no one can get in
no one can hurt you

and we get it, you're serious about global issues
and we respect it. we encourage it. we praise it.
but haven't you heard
that too much of a good thing... is bad?
and too much of a bad thing.. is, well... good.

not.

you can only build walls so high
before they tumble down and destroy that around them
spewing debris in all directions like a flamethrower with no limit
a tongue of fire burning everyone around
that not even water can heal, leaving scars

reminders
that although you have been quenched, rebuilt, moved on
your words, your actions
they live on, physical reminders to the pain you put me through
although we sit and laugh, I remember

sooner or later you have to know
that living is not dependent upon pointing out
every social issue and making future plans
complaining about all the world's problems
and rambling until your mom makes you stop

a big part of living is enjoying it
the carefree sunsets with toes covered in sand that sticks
and midnight premiers at harry potter movies
enjoying life is dancing in the kitchen with your lover
while rainbow colored pancakes cook

and running to make the winning goal as the clock ticks to zero
blood pumping through your veins
even when faced with death in a close call car cash
life speeding by in a heartbeat
only then can you appreciate that you are alive

live and love
don't waste it all criticizing and changing all that's wrong in the world
because you are only you
you cannot fix everything
Jenn Coke Feb 2016
I miss you, I want to see you. But not because it’s “couple season” – not because it’s cold and gloomy and city lights explode with hands conjoined. You are worth more than the missed holidays, more than the occasions spent without us being in the company of one another: Hallowe'en, my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, probably your birthday, too, as well as Valentine’s, and our anniversary.

On these specially marked days, I feel a certain emptiness as you, my beloved other half, is not present with me, yet that which is not emptiness, for you still fill my heart plenty. In these times, I feel envy as lovers are so obviously visible everywhere, yet that which is not envy, for they are not you. I may suffer from your absence but I don’t suffer from jealousy. See, I love you, this one man who cannot compare to the likes of any other, this one man who strangely loves me back, this one man who’s mine and to whom I’m his.

You are so very special to me and you mean a lot to me. I love you, I lurve you, I lava you, ILY (code), I <3 U (symbols), je t'aime, saranghae (Korean) – I want to say it a gazillion times and it wouldn’t be enough, and yet I don’t want to say it because it’s only an ensemble of words, an expression that is just too common, overused, cliché and weak, whose (level of) meaning doesn’t remain constant. Perhaps I could keep coining new ones, but then again I don’t want to be simply, mindlessly uttering or writing them like so, as if out of habit.

I want this so-called “love” to be conveyed in such a way that – a tap on the shoulder, a  homemade dinner and handcrafted gifts, a random drive, a silent gaze, a goodbye hug and a goodnight kiss, my sleep-mumbling in your ear and your snoring on my nape, and the sharing of clothes – would melt our heart and let us fall a little deeper, therein meaning exponentially more than a mere, verbal, three-worded clause, “I love you.” That’s the kind of love I want us to be… partaking in.

Today, eight months later, (although I am still thirteen hours ahead, still 8,070 miles East, and still not in your arms…) at the last stroke of the small hand, we both wave and bid farewell to 2015 and welcome and gaze at 2016.

I’m thankful that love found us, I’m glad that we followed, and I’m happy that our relationship remains in the present.

May the new year be full of goodness!
Another special day spent without my love. New Year's Eve from different ends of the world.
Jeremy Betts Oct 2019
(political)

Our leaders don't instill much confidence with their arrogance and incompetence
The blind leading the blind, leading Trump, leading Mike Pence
The importance of common sense diminishing due to a far sub par influence
Leaving said common sense to no longer be common place, commonly erased and/or misplaced, replaced and praised by the physical embodiment of ignorance
A fact, in essence, is knowledge not acceptance, they rather you had no  remembrance of that conflicting evidence
With no thinking cap there's an absence of intelligence so you find yourself turning your nose up at the science
Thinking you can create your own semblance of order but it doesn't stick cause there's no substance
Empty ideas with no means to an end will never silence a crowd, just spreads around more violence
It's proven every election, they are tyrants saying what we want to hear then going back on all campaign statements
No more compliance, gotta stop thinking we the people can't make a difference
That thought was born from the opposite of arrogance in the sense that we don't know the extents of the power that comes with just our presence
It really, truly is a gift, now we just need to open our presents with a willingness and appropriate acceptance
Gotta quit with the indulgence of the hot air and flatulence that spew from these sycophants
Blind obedience is a dangerous way to advance and go about your existence
To much trust given in this instance, we bought it not 'cause it was a need but 'cause it was on clearance
Now we know the price was to steep but deceit is their quasi brilliance
Pure reliance on these p*ss ants we supposedly elected for guidance is a death sentence
They saw you coming from a distance and detoured your persistence
All the while preying on you from a white house window as you brave the elements
They even got you believin' your thoughts are your own but I can't stress this enough, that's nonsense
Regardless, it's no coincidence that we're falling right in line behind their wicked influence
Every four years we seem to pass on the renters insurance, so there's no assurance
No guarantee that when it comes crashing down like suicide insurgents
You won't be left to foot the bill of their gluttonous indulgence
Face it, you ate it up too, don't lie, can't claim your innocence when there's a witness and clear cut evidence
Evidence you bought into this with no regard for this nations residents
Coining the hashtag my life matters more then those low life pesints
In that regard see, poor is poor, color really, truly doesn't make a bit of difference
That's just used to keep us at each others throats so we don't form any kind of resistance
Saving face is a progress hindrance, we messed up royally when we voted outta spite and defiance
Even before it was official we knew it wasn't gonna be a good alliance
You could just tell by looking out into his audience and seeing who was in attendance
Every stance he took seemed like another foot in the grave but he buys his way out with daddy's allowance
Excuse me, I'm sorry, I mean inheritance, whatever, same difference
And this ADD society can't focus long enough to begin an impeachment prosses much less secure a prison sentence
And with the occurrence of each lie we lose more and more faith in the system put in place to uphold some semblance of balance
This breeds a nation of violence, looking for vengeance, no more tolerance
But we cant be the change we want to see while in a safe space, our soundtrack can't be the sound of silence
We don't want to be left with this blood money inheritance riddled with the guilty parties fingerprints
But at our core we're just looking to make more of a difference by being the difference
And yeah, they should be scared of what we're capable of, the gloves are off, we broke the trance, now let's dance...

©2019
Third Eye Candy Nov 2020
I’m coining a phrase in the cheap seats.
On a balcony behind the projector.
My wine flask has red names for Polaroids
And fishnet eyelids like a wizard
with a joke face
at a serious
party.

i snoop for books in Unpolished eyes-
and find them leather-bound
to a howling calliope
of hushed gods
in real time,,,
haranguing
the flesh
in bouts
of unbridled
Clarity.

I encroach upon a node of conspicuous samadhi
with all the fearsome brittle of my inner destroy

Something Creates
where my Null sets a coarse by a star
coughing up a lung
in a Cherub’s
Song.

I keep my Puppets
in a Sock
because that’s
Funny.

and that's how
you Pretzel
a Butterfly

for no money,
Chris Saitta Dec 2019
Corded muscles of the neck ferry the voice of sky,
Charon of words adrift in a salivary dislocated sine,
A fracture of breath, the stenciled rowing of a sigh.
Psychopomps of moonlight, past-throated vultures,  
Carrion of clouds even if stripped clean in vulpicide,
Even if our scorched and coining tongues tip at stars.
In Greek myth, Charon ferried the dead across the river Styx and Acheron in Hades.  A coin was placed in the mouth of the dead to pay for passage.

Pyschopomps are figures who guide the dead to the afterlife, in myth and some religions.

Vulpicide is the killing of a fox.

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