Ragged claws scuttling across the room
The muttering retreats of restless noon
Bracelet white and sprinkled streets
As if in a magic floor of silent seas
Fog that rubs its back upon a pillow
Among the porcelain some to follow
Like the solar apex of the sun

Before the taking my greatest flicker
Crisis though I have coat and snicker
The sunset and door yard so presume
With cheap hotels and sawdust perfume
Streets that follow time to ******
And time yet tired of market order
Like the solar apex of the sun

Would the dead come back to tell
With spit out restaurant oyster shells
My necktie taken from the eternal prophet
Hands that lift and and modest pockets
I have the dying beneath the terrace
Sleeps so peacefully without this marriage
Like the solar apex of the sun

this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

high price of admission, that being the innate circumstances wherein his ego germinates and grows into two things at the same time: externally pleasant and internally grotesque.

this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

long stretch of beach lined with hospital beds, pyres alight to the God of False Flags and Falser Hope, long speeches and poor teachers getting too close to the water.

this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

difference of opinion - the trickle-down economics of not giving a **** about anyone except one's inner sanctum, from the unrepresented in their little mud huts, to the shadow skulls with buzzing sinuses; Everything, Performing the Dance of the Hearse Driver.

this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but with a

whimper, courtesy of yours truly

Ik merk op: “De maan die minnelijke Don Juan!
Of wellicht (ik geef toe, erg straf)
Is het de luchtballon van Pape Jan
Of een dwaallicht waarnaar wij turen
Om arme zielen *** bos in te sturen.”
     Zij zegt: “U dwaalt wel erg af!”

En ik weer: “Iemand ontlokt aan het toetsenbord
Die gevoelige nocturne, muziek met het vizier
Op nacht en maneschijn, die vaak gebezigd wordt
Om de eigen leegheid vorm te geven.”
     Zegt zij: “Sloeg dat misschien op mij, zo-even?”
     “O nee, ik ben de leeghoofd hier.”

“Gij zijt, mevrouw, een ware grapjapon,
Van hyperbolen nooit gehoord,
Voor dolende gevoelens geen pardon!
Met uw hulp nuchter en rigoureus
Wordt malle lyriek in de kiem gesmoord––”
      En–– “Moet alles echt zo serieus?“

EDIT.

not only is mr bolt missing, there's a like button too.

hp is basically fb and im so p'd that this keeps happening.