~
A mix of
Startoucher
And Venus in furs

A minor astronomical event
Between luminous beings

Timean sparkles
Fast atoms escape

And in their wake
Baby satellites to bear
~

Tommy guns for insurance
And wads of sweaty cash
To build new empires with

But there are no guarantees
Crime, you see, doesn't pay
You can bank on it

So we already know how it ends:
They canceled his policy
And Dunaway with her

I'm pining, they're whining
I want to announce,
Biden is flailing, Democrats whaling,
Give me the nod and watch me just pounce.

Timing’s the key, I know they want me,
But all my square minders
Scratching their head, tossing in bed,
Remind me to follow the words of our founders.

Fighting the British with forces quite skittish,
Washington uttered these very wise words:
“Your enemy's rotten, their gains are Ill-gotten,
They'll flutter and flail like little lost birds”.

With that thought imbedded, I shan't be
Hard-headed
To follow the lead of a man I adore,
With Joe on the ropes, dashing all hopes,
More now than ever it's of me they want more.

~
Memphis
and the King,
plagued up
to his neck
in denial,

turning remote
controls
into staffs,
staffs into snakes,
jackals,
and hounds,

shaking the sistrum,
singing gospels
full of mystery
to a god,
a girl,
and state of mind
he will never solve,

asking skies
of transulent
orange,
from the far corners
of his world,
for pharmacopia,

then granting
Moses
his freedom
in exchange
for a box
of hot glazed
doughnuts,

and always
his little
wild petunia,
painted face
and percolating
body,
skin smooth
as the eastern Delta,

her weighted down heart,
his tyranny,

his self-destructive tongue,
her asp
~

I and my colleague got out of our car,
We, the two men with a trench coat wrapped around us,
Walked down to the alley on that cloudy day,
A ****** scene it was, across the river bed,
Where once the pearly white swans swam.

There lied a dead young woman with a stab in her chest,
Through the heart,
With luscious red hair lied a beauty,
That enamors a thousand souls,
A blooming red rose aside her right arm,
A necklace made of scallops around her neck.

A blonde winged child crying profusely
With an empty quiver around his back,
While whistling doves hovered over us,  
And a purse containing letters from the shepherds,
And a commander.

And a man and a woman standing
Besides the body, were crying
And with sadness in their voice,
Saying about how without her
They will forget how to love in time,
And will never be loved anymore.

In such wailing times,
All I could do was to shed some pennies,
And I said them here are pennies,
To plant some myrtles in her memories,
Across these riverbeds,
And hope the swans swim in these rivers once again.

They fought with swords and shields in sorted fields

of acrimony, declared life and limb to a barren kingdom,

bowed to the royal crown and wooed its fairest daughter.

They won her heart, graced her walls, and worked within them to produce an offspring

—a love child forged with the will of iron and a random, but possessive eye chart.

It nearly took the death of an empire to bring this passion to birth,

and here it so rests upon her breast, pleading an allegiance to her tattered flag.

Why even a thousand years of war demurred to her letting down her hair.

But whose army crossed that wanton bridge and stroked her into carnal submission?

Who kept watch at the crossroads?

History tells us c'est la vie was the culprit, and détente the better angel.

Sometimes it's useless to be useful...