'Sometimes things just don't make sense and ignoring things won't make you dense, but some people can't say no, so if someday our minds do blow, from curiosity and such, we will no longer keep in our clutch, reality and questions thought, and hopefully we needn't sought the answers, non-factual, we've been taught.'

Answers are for dancers:
Never step left,
always step right.
Right on the course,
where loyalist fight.
Right in the angelic pose that they do.
In fact,
it'd be better if you weren't you.
Just act like they act and you can get by,
do as they do and never ask why.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
answers I give you to move the right way.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
because with my answers you never will stray.
But if you do,
I assure you,
you've clipped the strings,
and do know that it means
you will shunned,
an existence unseen,
by the people who dance,
the people who sing,
by all the people pulled by my string.

moonlight paints streaks
  on adolescent bodies
ocean-clad and gleaming
with their alabaster finish
impeccable
impenetrable
lay our confidences
coiled softly within our own hands
for us only
peeking every now and then
just to make sure its staying put
and like a flashlight in the sky
we are all revealed
under a light thats harsh, but forgiving
yet stranger things have
and stranger things will
come of this new moon

Tingly under the daisies;
   Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
   Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
   Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
   Westernizing—
   Romanizing—
   Constitutionalizing—
   Institutionalizing—
   Perpetually searching
   And dying
   And living,
   Watching Death survive
   And scythe the frolickers,
   The prancers,
   The rompers,
   The merrymakers.
   A rose clamped between his
   Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
   And he dances so joyously.
   “Yes!” say the naysayers,
   Confused are the soothsayers,
   Lost are the cartographers.
   Oh, Utopia!
   The monks are extravagant;
   The meditations are a farce!
   The preachers are beggars
   And swindlers and chargers,
   And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
   Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
   Ritualistically sacrificed,
   And their blood is spilled, drunk,
   Slathered over the ***** man.
   The evangelists scream and lie:
   “You are all predestined to die!”
   Oh, hail Utopia!
   Wedded are the girls to the girls;
   Wedded are the boys to the boys;
   Wedded is Death to Death,
   Life to Life,
   And Life to Death.
   Wedded are the living to the existent.
   And the milking babes are slaughtered
   Ceremoniously,
   Surreptitiously,
   Ostentatiously.
   Oh, hail great Utopia!
   We are all dead and unintelligent:
   Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
   Stupidity.
   Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
   Your retardation.
   Laugh, laugh, laugh!
   Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
   Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
   Aesop was drunk,
   Aristotle was delusional,
   Michelangelo was blind,
   Beethoven could hear,
   Poe was sane.
   And I can't read.
   They ramble,
   I watch.
   They sleep,
   I watch.
   They dream,
   I watch.
   They sleep-talk,
   I watch.
   They scream,
   I watch.
   They choke,
   I watch.
   They suffocate,
   I watch.
   Stone-faced, I stare;
   Raspingly, I breathe;
   Uncontrollably, I twitch;
   Inwardly, I rage.
   I hope you die, I hope you die.
   I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
   I want you begging and crying,
   I want you blubbering at my feet,
   I want you gnashing at my ankles,
   I want you writhing in pain,
   I want your arm twisted off,
   Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.

The reason is
The reason lives
Thinking is just diluting
The last true thought.

I am contemptuous
My belittling glance tells you this
And you still step up
A cutthroat diamond in the rough.

This is how the humans
All come through
Diner dashes and music school
Stageway prancers where dreamers rule.

Wasted hours
Clocking the highest sponsors
And if there's a glimmer of light
They all rush to the window.

Life the red tide
Time is time going by
Eat your unspoiled veggies now
Your own dreams ready to die.

What was the inspiration
for country ponds , for carefree
bodies of water nurturing native songs
Filling young hearts , blue mirrors with tall pine edges ,
carefree days 'neath cozy river birches
Dragonfly prancers and rock bass river dancers ,
sultry bullfrog diddies , red clay marsh , rolled up
britches , sacks of sandwiches , straw hats ,
cardinals , egrets , herons , chickadees and finches
Rain cooled July breezes , row upon row of knee high corn ,
blackberry , blueberry and dewberry thorns
Songs of the creek , of highland hayfield and crystal clear rivers
Tales of arrowheads , tomahawks and hawk feather quivers
The confluence of neighboring streams
The story of piedmont dreams

'Umm...Mr. Richmon were ready.' Ok Freddy let's roll out in the Chevy. These fools who hit us up last week are going to pay, when I'm done with them their bodies will be at the bottom of a creek and police won't look because I made sure insurance was on their tray. No one ***** with the Don, get out the guns, then on Sunday we play nice with the priests and the nuns. Traditional values because we still human, police watching us like we Truman. Good thing that they are corruptible, and it's also a good thing that this land is so profitable. Living in a palace, sometimes I get lost in my wonderland like the mafia version of Alice. Got the gold, the fancy cars, and the women yeah this the life, going out every night to my bar and making sure I always have my lucky Bowie knife. It's not easy being a criminal when everyone be gunning for you, yeah this **** certainly is not breezy.

Remember not to get high off your own supply other wise you'll end up like that Tony Montana guy. Come to me for a deal you can't refuse, come to me to heal or seek refuge. Family sticks together and if you got a problem with someone you finish it in the ring like Floyd Mayweather. Life of an outlaw yeah started from the ground because you must plant seed before you attain straw. Got to be smart and when you take a chance better hope your shot hits the mark. If you didn't know already my name is Don Richmon and I won't be bent over by the pressure of this world because I came to rule it man. The Don never runs, so if you want me make sure your guns are not on stun. Come on make my day, because if you fail you better pray you can get away. I don't ****-I torture, I know I'm ill but you have to be when you’re the Godfather.

Life of a gangster got to spin the wheel like a hamster. Got not time for wangsters or prancers, because those types of people give me cancer. Only the best, so if you think your worthy for now you are welcome as a guest. This isn't the wild where you’re safe in a nest; you’re not a child you have to be willing to treat other gangs like pests. Eradicate those delegates, no time to meditate or second-guess or you will receive a terrible fate. Conceal don't feel because what once was a game has now become real.

How unique that what we search for and seek is inside us,us the weak,us the strong
and inside so it was all along and we knew not.
But now we've got the twenty first century, a time for the cruel and the bloodthirsty,the fools and the prancers,cankers on the sidewalks of society.
If this is the humanity we live in I think that I might put my hands up and give in,I am tired of seeing demons where the angels ought to be.
But
you won't forget me
I won't let you,
I'll be in your face each morning,noon and night,reminding you that this is who I am,
the man who didn't want to stay and watch as what we have just wastes away,who would instead,
once ideas formed inside his head go off to seek,once more unique but no less weak,others with the same ideal,
while in the unreal or the real depending on the way you feel it's easy to be bogged down in the picky details of a plan and yet
the man who walked away can come back and sketch another day and in another time,perhaps when things have worked out,which is well and fine,that other time becomes the time that is the time to make the move.

We deserve an answer,
We are not just prancers

In your dance.
We have the right

To have a chance,
And equal might.

No, we are not the dancers
For perverted glancers.

We too have free-will
Not solely for your thrill.

We too are people
And our pains are real.

We hurt, we cry, we feel.
So I am fighting with the quill!

We are all your equals!
Listen up you creep-os!

Stop strangling me
With marionette strings!

In the proud of the night
(well past the community allowance of social mirth)
curfew has been ignored on mass

The town is flooded with its near full population
on the streets

A tension

Intelligence is lost in the mob formation
all tender that something is frowning
that a ‘big thing’ is about to happen

How do you speak out in this field ?
Town Cryer
An old fashioned post but still held
Professional,
he strikes out a pound against the atmosphere


Might I hold your attention Good People
Gods People may I bend your ear ?
Upon my authority
Mark my words
And
As Goodly subjects of our fare town
I ask that you return to your abodes
Account for your household
Barrier your threshold
Tend a warm hearth
And wait out this night
Praying as family
As unit bond
And union under Gods kind eye


The Cryer has given direction
Repeating to all the gatherings he comes upon

By his office he has told them to swear off

The public move
Infected by the nights vibration
Addled and inflamed
Disperse
Crowds coward together
And relax apart
Walking foal, new to footfall
Unsecured
Sparks in the dark
Unguided and untested
Weapons into the criminal night
New spawned characters
Fused
Laughing giddiots,
scolders,
prancers
Diners, not surgeons
Fledded on venoms
Sense riders

As their individual monsters grow they distance one another
They pepper
Repeating the town
Strays of mess opportunity
Few go straight home

A remattered night is made place
An unpracticed costume horror
No dress rehearsal here !
A remattered night is made

Two answers
Extinction or reason
Harsh distinction
Humanity's treason
Are our lives unique
Among hundreds and billions?
Why do we control nature
By separating ourselves?
Endless, friendless
Evolving to get less
Age is no refinement
Inside is misalignment
Questions not solved by assignments
We live through confinement
Enhancers of cancer
Dancers and prancers
Funds without a financer