solicit the galling thoughts                                                  
those obscenities   rigged gorily within        
          victim concepts   taught distortion   forbidden carcass

in the persisting sully of night                                            
padded dreams pace    ******* at a fed distance      
it's all in sight  and held racing back and forth  out of reach
                     some sloven mystery
under a cower of skin

one day free of your agent cover                                        
and you'll stand   vacantly able     under eye of the morgue creator
mating together life habits    gracious goodness gratefully seeded
you could maintain a patient pattern
with practice you could go mainstream

                                 -with practice

O old Gods who wait in morrow, let me shine in sacred sorrow
I proffer, and offer, my marrow, bone, flesh, to thine altar borne,
lone in meeting, only fleeting, silent here for duty sworn
My old Gods who sit in waiting, might I power just to borrow?
Only briefly you must loan me the magic to sunder torn.
Weak and trembl’ng, weak to muster, I sought courage, but I crumble,
at the sight of just thy vision, for to me it seems e’er unseen
naught to know but thy own master ‘til I patient, sorely lumber
wondering if fear has stolen me to thine own sacred meadow
when suddenly, fervently see thine true shape and face and form and
terrible dreams enter my soul e’er to stay and e’er to fecund
for death I prefer to understanding the truth our Gods have shunned.

Yet little more did I then speak among the dead and too the meek,
falling towards an abyss so deep that makes my heart and soul weep
dying truly like a phantom lurking in the shallows creep
and yet falling ever faster and so overwhelmed by deep
my eyes and ears saw nothing and heard nothing, not a leap
from the darkness that consumed me e’er more did I fail to seek
that which cannot only reap the dead and tear them ‘til they so reek
so sharp and pointed so it was even I could witness and speak
“Who have I wronged in this place so awful that I am gaoled oblique?
Yet can still think and ponder the widow’s peak and in vain self-wreak?”
in sacred toil among the stardust that makes us shine so mystique.

What does thou will, O lord, my lord, of more than we can ever tell?
I know it is not my duty not to know. Ask I must, ask besides
the husk of my body is yours and yet I know little of thee
by whose authority do wield such magics and more asides?
it is not plain to me what sort of horror lies ‘neath the scorched ground
so why do I? Why do I scream? Why do I see the beast in me?
The hound that hunts for those who must be slaughtered despite what else they seek
the wolf inside that hunts, rips, and tears, taken apart piece by piece
the awful sound of howling that’s for me to not and never cease
the stars themselves align to my fate fear in mind and e’er besides
‘tis here that I myself sit alone and finally soon to die.
for death I prefer to the fate our Gods have brought to us benumbed.

starting @ the top of the key

two cones. one at the 3-point line to the right. one at the free-throw line to the left.**

(Cross-over right to left; spin-move left to right; gather myself, **** fake, lay-up)
2x

(Between the legs right to left; cross-over left to right; jump shot)
2x

(Spin move right to left; behind the back left to right; lay-up)
2x

(Behind the back right to left; between the legs left to right; floater)
2x

(Step-back right to left; inside out cross; dunk)