Rock: Ridgid and tough
Wood: Natural, eventual decay
Glass: Fragile and transparent/colorful
Paper: Lightweight and flexible, yet tears easily

Copper: Less expensive, down-to-earth
Silver: Shiny, allergic to my skin
Gold: Self absorbed, obsessed
Platinum: Tending to try for perfections or egotistic, ADHD or OCD

Air: Invisible and wayward, nomadic
Water: Flowing and graceful
Fire: Warmth and passion
Earth: Round and supple

Riding down the stoic streets,
Whilst the shy blossoms indigo,
before the deluge of spirits,
Start trampling and parading,
After the long pandering lat night,
Mind and body pounding like a
funeral drum.
A single procession hugs the horizon
and kisses the waves lapping on
forgotten shores,
Tossing and turning,
pulling head strings to remember,
gulping it all,
and put it down intrinsic,
with a nuance of perfection.

(I wrote these words:)

The Vagabond Dogs
Traveling the Earth,
Howling inebriated to the Moon,
To the Horizon,
Towards impeccable stars,
Guarded Jealousy towards,
Their Gratitude towards
Life.

There's a pandemic,
The denial of Self,
Not only of the surface self,
But also of what lies underneath.

In the depths,
Mystery,
On the forefront,
Chaos,
All the while the middle,
Spins concentrically.

Openly exposed to lands both,
Futile and Fertile,
On either side,
There slides,
Shimmering isles screeching,
water whirling.

(Handwritten horribly)

Excuse The pen
I walked all this way,
And my pen is broke!

With their tails flashing,
A brilliant white light,
Followed behind,
And was lost inside itself.

Their white shadow,
the soft bellied burial,
the creamy innards of bliss,
the silky crystal sphere,
existing inside and outside itself.

The wind blows the sheet in
Whispered movements,
many wings fluttering on the face,
from my pavilion under the parasol,
smells of woody incense fumes,
The grey of the sky,
Such charisma floating around,
Lofty bounds over this crowd,
Still insanity reins,
Silvered veins holding golden steel,
Who tells you this is real?

As soon as Harmony rose on the horizon,
I felt the world commence,
The whole thing has been surreal,
Seeing figures from the past,
The new fleeting moments echoing into eternity,
Voices became elated and enlightened,
As even the harsh storms threaten the shore,
beckons at the door,
The New people answer back,
perfectly diffused.

Lust is a sin everyone will enjoy,
from the bums in the courtyard,
mingling and thrusting ***** privates,
to the chaste; to you and me, and celibate,
The celibate lust for self-recognition,
for their gods,
for a higher purpose,
To strive is to lust and to lust,
it is only human to lust for comfort,
for control,
for order.
Goals of every sect are prized,
Sought after are the lusts
that guide us,
that energize the batteries in our backs,
tells us to do crazy things,
some promote devastation.

The brilliant center jumps,
Spiraling and turning,
pulsing along with invisible beats,
lulling the eyes onward to the nod,
Hitting the sides of shaded banks,
Returning,
and for just the slightest instant,
exhibiting a fearless display;
in the true cascading lumiradiance;
bursting into full light;
Colors deafening and shining outward,
Turning all those around blind,
deaf,
stupid,
entitled to enlightenment.

A body bulging and,
ripping seams,
a rash unconfinement,
suddenly set free,

A body metamorphisized,
with a soft croon,
the shell is abandoned,
the sacred formed soul is
awakened,

A body is a husk,
baking on the dirt road,
decaying in absolute silence,
the self trots along toward the
distance.

The insane passage of time,
Has led me to this point,
Surroundings are stereo vibes,
The mystic beats,
Created in the caves,
All come blaring out,
They trumpet and stampede,
All along with swinging clashes,
Like a medieval battle,
The eternal battle that,
instead of sustaining injury,
created something anew,
gasping littered dust of wreckage,
O how much it means,
the begotten, the wretched, the poor all mingle under one star,
Dancing and pouring drink after
drink,
Commoting the alleys of the sky,
Calamitous in their guise,
Bring joy and confusion in their
wake,
Splashing on the shore,
a delicate overlapping embrace,
The past aggression forgotten,
With charred remains,
The ocean succeeds the
deadly flame.

The dark ink blots out the sky,
the stars aren't shining
because at the center of our fixture
rests an everlasting, whirring
mechanism,
it turns the key in out backs,
pushes us further,
tiptoe or *** rush or sprint,
the multitude of spirits echo,
an enchanting chorus,
tone unlike any other.

When an arm is held up high,
distinct from all the rest,
it might be victory or defeat,
triumph or loss,
the inevitable outcome is when
raised,
There exists, still, a connection
to the rest of the body.
As our mingled mangled forms
caress the day we're given,
With a raising of our appendage,
it would be all over,
call it quits.

Inside the network of humanity,
There is a swell increasing,
Bubbling to the surface,
Clawing through sand and gravel,
and mud,
They are the sacred and pummeled hands,
riffling through the cosmos,
By and by making their thirst increase,
For dominance,
For sheer arrogance,
For all things wholesome,
For the coming of reason,
Dipped down by the ever restless,
Drawbacks that pinch their sides.

Then a time will emerge,
The face of the clock,
Shrouded in smoke, fog, and
mirror.
A specter of radiance,
draped in neither human
costume,
or of drawbacks; pinned wings,
Suckling a Dionysian Principle,
relishing the illicit,
and honoring the
perfect existential
burden,
Thus making assured this gift, this
upheaval,
Obsolete, dangerous,
misunderstood,
To the grand choir and,
velvet dungeons,
Slime pouring from an,
everlasting faucet,
His fate is surely carved into the
hieroglyphic walls,
in madness and panic,
swelled a deep tranquility,
The etchings formed poetry,
formed testament,
formed testimonial,
formed remedy in martyrdom,
Others were closed to strange intensities,
Others sat and smoked on their patios,
Watching the worlds collide,
Rattling the great fabric gong,
seizing with pleasure,
omniflourescent fireworks,
of absolute brilliance,
The twinkling dust falling,
flickering as
they fall,
Becoming imagined demons,
sacred omens,
reassurance that things,
derive from all things,

What had been said and done in the past, now is the wall keeping them from taking a look at the real veiled horizon that captivates the ethereal mystery of the child's wonder.

Pay attention to,
the squids and monkeys and bugs,
They will rule one day,
Roaming forests, dark foliage,
Pierced only by sliver milked moon
The sun far set on ethereal ground,
The people soon rest in the shallow
Or sent abroad have dreams of leaving,
Timeless exposure to all magnets.
This makes no sense.

pages turn the world.
as in weight with a full load,
page turn and skin burn,
kingdoms of the wild,
all favor the queen,
She is to be followed,
By strange masses,
Covered in
pyre ash,

Holy riders of wind, crisp and grey,
Vanish over the clouds,
Derelict an missing limbs,
Somberly moving in collapsible
movement.
They tip-toe the equator,
between existence and chaos.

The true insanity is giving
worship.
To every blinking light and
exposure.
As an infinitesimal thing.

I saw it all
and graced every moment,
There they all were,
Scattered across Gregorian isles,
The beauties beyond the bridge,
holding and caressing the sun-
drenched pavement,
Beset on all corners flesh of the-
purest sort,
The cackling ruffians in the parks,
conspicuous cigarettes barely holding
steady,
The yawn-screaming maintenance man,
in the back of the depot,
making faces at passersby.
The didwives walk swiftly,
buckling dirt under their scoured
limbs,
The fresh smell of the river,
with precarious logs that never
fall over,
The faces chisled in the walls,
Men whose catacombs belong,
Personally under the floor boards,
I met the modern day black-
smiths,
greased, and happy golden-red,
Behind, stuck in the surreal
rut,
Happily tailing and fireworking
as tickets fly in,
A walk home revealed all,
footsteps graced every patch,
Each one of comical saints,
tying invisible lines of
alternate reality.


"Excuse me,
I just wanted to say,
You look beautiful today."

Watching strange scenes,
On a fabricated screen,
I did not know where I ended,
And the vision,
Existed.

The train's boxcars traveled in skullcap colours.
Tired and lonesome beats ascend to the platforms.
Reflect back on the worlds past, a deep breath... a sigh.
Regalings of thunderous poundings,
Lackluster imitators

Renounce the worse,
Rejoice in the better.
Become Awake.
Accept your miserable self,
Than you'd be happy.
Become Human,
brittle fingers crawl.
Reclaim divinity!

Dream of life,
A shell of a man,
Walk the world,
A zombie.

Frightened as a cyclopes,
With two eyes,
Making a statement,
For all mankind.

God's little creatures,
Drinking the forest,
Through their feet,
And olde cartoons.

The sands of time,
From the hourglass,
Drain through the,
Hands of the chieftain.

Demons in the fog,
Their smiles luminating,
And made of corpses.

With no where to run,
And no where to hide,
Many people can't explain,
The knife in their hand.

Drained from their lifeless,
And made to dance,
With no sense of,
Remorse towards it.

Nobody tells you how,
Nobody tells you why,
In the wind,
Fish swim in magma,
And frogs have sequence.

They laugh at the chaos,
Hope for the return,
Of their master,
The drained man.

With no emotion,
After a date with,
His drained life.

Coming out of the sleepy terrarium auditorium,
Whispering consciousness of rotten handfuls,
Then a great stranger, obelisk tall and stretching,
His hand and giving me a clue of what to do next,
A searing and scathing, loose triumphant look,
I almost tried to shield my eyes from its beauty,
Sound spilling out of the speakers in cacophony,
Climaxing and exhaling like a tired holy shaman,
Tranquil and pondering existence,
Wondering and re-examining what was the real reason,
Somehow it all seemed to melt away and each chattering,
Capsized example fell on the ears of catalysts,
Somehow the morning light had seamed through the curtain,
Training the new apprentices of next abreast,
Sitting in the waiting room panting and wailing,
When will it be their turn,
To change the minds of America,
While setting fire to the office building next door,
One of the commanders of chaos sat back in an easy chair smiling,
Further melting away layers I saw the,
Saints,
       And,
              Devils.

Discarded heavenly ash that rains down,
Torched atoms from an immense body,
Collecting delicately on powdered reflecting floors,
Which catch radiant and brilliant aftermaths,
The chaos creating by destruction but never really changing,
Just flickering in the light as they grow weightless,
Everything silent nonsense now,
With pristine nothingness,
Brilliant colors dipping and moving with blatant blankness,
Such energy resides in the smallest speck,
Suspended in a ribbon of reality,
Nourished with tidbits of truth,
Until the intense instant of breaking off,
Particles erupting, igniting, into brightness.

There is this fly in my house right now,
Daring flights of fancy   brave aerial acrobatics,
As if sent from reincarnation of a past pest,
Someone who turned into a fly,
And accosting me in my bed-sheeted existence,
The dreary light of early day pouring in the room,
Late night pondering turning to late afternoon,
Awakening, to what?
To the fly that made me lose my pen,
To the simple, all powerful,
The fly laughed, rubbing his hands on the door frame,
  mocking me,
  making me lose my place,
  on the depths of the reality,
  Flying across my mind,
I tried to smash the ******* with my volumes,
Barbarous and cruel dives of absolute madness,
Obnoxious in the face hand waves,
dive bombs on the room,
slow enough to see, quick enough to flee,
     "You only live one day, and this is how you spend it?"

It's the conspiracy to conspire,
Think of how the fist or flies feel,
The most enticing truth,
Astonishingly mouthwatering,
Turns out smoke and mirror,
You see, because behind the window paned,
skeleton of steel and wire,
Underneath there is commerce,
In the webbing of marrow, worldwide underhandedness,
Something is always being sold,
What better way to take power away,
Then having scheduled rebellions,
The greatest put on,
Our system only works under thumbs,
from the backdrop works the crippled puppeteer,
behind his blank, vagrant, expressionless lenses,
Behind the grey skin and swilled organs,
Attached to the oil drum veins,
Beats the very same heart of Moloch!

Levitating angel,
Won't you sit by me,
So I can hear the purr,
Of your breath,
The seldom and wonderful,
Times you are with me,
The sultry storm that shines,
Inside of the ***** diamond,
So ample and rich and round,
Please bare, always bare,
What you want out of life,
Brevity and traded dreams,
Lose yourself with me,
I want to hear it,
I'd love to be there.

You wouldn't understand,
You aren't me.
It's hard to explain,
Even I don't know.

For once you came to me,
Instead of me seeking you,
Through the silhouette lining of night,
Gaining form from the shade,
Amidst living, make-shift caricatures,
Swelling and pulsing on impossibility,
Grand kinetics and beats,
Signals that rise and wane.

Syncopated with the earthly trumpets,
Silvery milk harps silhouetted the scene,
Golden tolling thunder fogging from the deep,
Fanatics drawing deathly dream-like breaths,
Wrapping around the candle drums.

Suns and moons kissed our eyes,
We all laughed at our disguise,
All truth had become all lies,
From the ground all ties were cut,
Floated to the center,
Earthly lives and candle drums,

Take away the dying block,
Gracious resounding turbulence,
Time stopped for heavenly hell,
Came apart and brought back with spell,
We all fell and resurrect tonight.

An eye awoken in the dark,
It swayed and gazed out the window,
Answering it was time to leave,
A lumbering placid frame took off,
The day's ramblings already starting,
What would the next moment hold.

Beyond the great gloomy road,
Past the amethyst bleeding sky,
Time stood still as steel flashed by,
Mind thickened at the jolt,
May not have gotten to write this.

Cheers to the things that keep you up nights,
Here's to the things that make you feel truly alive,
The fascinating occurrence when,
Life and thought exist harmoniously,
moments during the timeline,
The resulting disposition is perfect union,
A wonderful shiver of oscillation,
between the Sensor and the Scenery,
Melting into the one,
Losing even the identity,
Becoming Zero,
Spiraling and imploding into the self nullity,
Then suddenly,
In radiant rupture,
The zero is and always has been,
Infinite.

Bursting solar luminescence encircled,
A splendor that defies,
Both benign and devilish like a sultry storm,
Clouds that billow up,
Can't touch the flame that is your heart,
The core seeks and is lovelorn,
Seams are torn and passion felt,
I've thought of it for so long,
To think of something else would be mad,
Whenever I see the sun,
I think of you.

The cornflower blue fields rolled to the edge of the town,
Held lavender and sapphire incense,
Absent produce just steaming scents,
Nestled in a vast valley,
Between pillars of countless smokestacks,
Churning out great sleepy coughs,
There was a place of milk and honey active consistency,
Where the lulled townsfolk dawdled,
The corners of their eyes and mouths thinned,
Within passing minutes and shifts,
From one scape to the next,
Predetermined and provincial,
As the sleepy smoke rose so did the passengers,
After a long and tired trip,
Leveled, gathered, proceeded on,
The machine's hum ringing in the air,

Slowly the air moved,
The townspeople gathered in their huts,
They barricaded themselves inside,
Imprisoned their own lives,
Content to be slow and easy-going,
They feared the one,
The One that they dare not acknowledge,
He strolled informally,
Chaotically, they say, he once lived in the fields,
The one greeted the sleepy folk,
But they didn't trust him,
Once he had been like them,
Until one day the One looked around and became hysterical,

No one know what to do with the one so they ignored him,
Day after day turned into year after year,
Soon the blue mist that rose from the fields turned navy,
It dyed the walls and the machines and even the people,
They became statues of alabaster,
Seeming to move now only slightly each day,
The one became a blur,
An invisible spinning, chanting, living, teraphim,
The one had lived a thousand years,
In a comparable minute to the townsfolk,
He only hoped that he could help,
But they couldn't see him,
Their slumped eyes had grown accustomed to the dream.

With one breath pupil contact,
Sudden and terrifying,
You can never go back,
Now you're stuck in the mess,
With the rest of us,
Walking and breathing and existing,
Simple pleasures and scents encircle,
Gathering of scavengers,
We're all diving in head first.
Why beat the living horse when the dead one will do?
Did it occur to you that you're a blessed fool?
Something will one day put you out,
Will there be gratitude for the night's rolling tide?
Do humans find true beauty in death,
In the unknown infinite,
    The sublime terror,
   The honor and the curse,
   The rise and the fall.

The Kamel had no skin on his gums,
With outstretched hooves and saline eyes,
A rustic desert bending on the Horizon,
Boundlessly veering off course,
There he'll give eternally in the mirror,
(Trying to reflect)
Right before the show,
And he'd instantly need to know,
What was that?
Had his peak come and gone,
Without vision he'd have no clue,
When he'd know,
Or when they had known,
What had happened?
There he saw footprints in the snow,
Crossing over each other high up,
Beyond the intrusions and dials,
Joyfully drenched in fearful awareness,
Peacefully engaged with time,
Those moments that came to the Kamel's Head,
Where all was lost and fully known.

The water in my canteen has been cooled,
On the windowsill from the cold night's wind,
I wrapped myself with all the warmth I could muster,
The heating desire witnessing the future and its change,
I am stuck in my room-cell,
Unable to move from their forces caving in,
Until they call for me to do the meager chores of life,
Then back,
Unwashed,
To my cave and etchings,
Where I have been for so long.

I just stepped outside and this is what I saw:
An armored truck brandishing controlled themes,
On a direct course head-on with a veiled rival,
Or so seen to be,
Malcolm X look-a-like strides with headgear,
Otherwise plugged in, turned up, and otherwise,
Shut down, turned away, failing to see on-coming traffic,
******* ******* clad and looking nervously around,
As the blaring eyesores turn hungrily around,
Nature is in quiet awe of the spectacle,
And the old madman squirms and twitches,
Taking long patient drags on his cigarette,
Knees swaying and with a look like he can't remember,
The last time he'd taken a ****.

She was really shaken up man,
That familiar look you see in war photos,
Victims of crime wide eyed and bona fide,
Terror,
From the dirt on her cheek,
I could tell that she had just come,
From a hard dirt place,
Live cement; turpentine sick,
Her skin was greyshade and taut,
Stretched of the bone like a funeral drum,
Where she came from the sun must've shone silver,

I didn't have the heart to tell her,
The world that she found herself in now was,
In a different level all that it could be,
Considered even faker,
Cracked plastic benches with particle board lampposts,
Overhead the sky looks too far to be real,
To touch such beauty will turn mad madder,
Here, Where patriotic citizens keep to stoic sublimity,
Boy was her skin pale.

I saw that her soul was screaming,
Streaming overhead was a brilliant flash,
Something important was hung in the air,
Pungent renaissance, well needed,
Deserved to be debated,
But NEVERTHELESS!
Paw prints were in the snow behind us,
As we made our way through the deaf crowd,
They stood dumbfounded at our audacity.

I dreamt I was pushing a broken lightbuld into his eye for laughing at me,
I woke up this morning with scratches on my hand,
The pain swelled and sank back into my palm,
but it felt incredibly relieving,
"What am I doing here?"
The room didn't make any sense to me,
Was I being held captive?
The *******.
Do you think that he has any idea,
Could anyone be that slovenly,
Whatever I'm happier that I've ever been,
Besides the scratches in my hand,
They don't hurt as much as that *****.

The worker bee mentality can sting,
The very essence of the creative scientific process,
Who wants the extra strain onto themselves?


High, high, high, high, I don't know why,
I did away, got away, made escape, was okay,
I got reason...
I had no reason, no reason,
No aspirations, I was made awake,
By a giant eye, blink away,
Cosmos gone, but I remain,
Cracked in stone, belly ache,
Sick and tired, of the way,
I had to act around this pain,
Getting up, sitting down,
Making real shadows on the wall,
Great, I only wanted to be tall,
For a line and sail away,
I hid away, ran away, made escape, carried on,
Killing time is almost up,
I'll sit in the corner and let it past,
Just want to finish this ******* song,
So I can go home.

While a howl rang and hung in the night's sky,
The clouds opened and surged inwards,
Thunder boomed magnificently,
Nature's wonderful horror,
Only a glimpse really into the heart,
The torrid splendor off coastal plains,
Might deluges and droughts,
Calculating Cosmos unifying existense,
Galactic accidents,
Mutations unique of the flesh,
Marbled temples with high ceilings,
Wiped off in an instant,
The LightningMan Cry,

There were deep pools of swirling grey,
Running along the borderline,
The child brought along his reel and soul,
He proceeded to set on the bank of,
One of the deepest pools,
And began to pray,
He started to remember all the mistakes,
They filled his lungs with self-loathing,
He wondered what his point was,
It filled his brain with worry,
He thought of his name,
It was like a cruel joke,
He remembered what he looked like on the outside,
It made his stomach churn,
He started to meditate to alleviate,
It made his heart beat slow,
A ring clamp had been binding it,
With concentration,
Silver electric flames rose up around the ring,
Turned it into a halo,
He forgot about the world and others,
He misplaced his own ego in the matter,
He even forgot that he was fishing,
And that was when he had a bite.

Lotus position in the blue light,
I've said every third thing I've had to say,
I'm in a Fritz the Cat mood,
Way in over my head?
I saw 2D illusions wrapped up in the stars,
They made sense in their motion,
Set to some Carnival Beat from the past,
It almost seems as if the papers could fly at any,
SECOND!
Sort of a kamikaze mission from within,
Taken for granted at times but whistling through,
All that rustling in the bushes isn't something,
To fear or make instant enemies with,
Tried and true make up the essence of outside,
Calling from beyond the blue electric light,
O what a shame to have happen to you,
O benevolent one who's fingers search,
O the few that make it all happen,
O to the continuounce of it all,
To circle in closer and closer without pause,
Granulated and thirsty basking in wait,
For that feminine angel to whasp down,
O a thing of immense beauty,
O in multi-armed manifestations of such,
O with chest beating and caving in,
O to glorious realization that,
Something is real besides themselves

Why is it that I cry,
Why O why must our children die,
Later when I walk around with a smile,
I wonder,
Why O Why must I lie.

Somewhere along the line the illusion will lift off of you two as well,
This is not a hate poem,
Although it is real in its dictum,
There's no ill will directed,
It could be just careful denial,
Seen as death and pain incarnate,
Really it was a good day,
And it is the truth I say,
This is not a hate song,
but **** em,
Hearing your circular coughs,
Like being force fed garbage,
Maybe this is a plea,
For an escape plan,
Perhaps a want of new beginnings,
I'll stay as long as,
It takes to see you two crash and burn,
You two make it so easy,
To lose track of my place,
Like an endless vertigo,
I felt creep up over my sockets,
Fog is clear and now all I have to say is,
**** THEM,
Everything points to something,
I'm happy mine's pointing away,
We all hold a gun my "friend,"
And yours are pointing at each other,
It is just a clause to a want,
saying so is something entirely different,
Because I work and slave to shape this,
While the two of you sit back and,
Exploit what it meas in a devilish laugh.

Today I was born again,
To live in somebodies head,
I lived the way he would for a day,
But no more...
I'm out of spirit and I'm out of head,
Nothing short of a miracle,
I'm thankful for every breath I take,
Unlike the others,
I've died and come alive,
Encapsulated in the jar,
In that soulful sound,
Protruded in the absolute,
Thirst for knowledge.

The addict is just a fool with misguided desires,
I'm just a cog in the unheard unified mechanism.

Welcome back to the rust bucket,
Welcome back to the **** bucket.

How incredibly suave Mr. Rivall
Those are the words of the woman
Made love to and fascinated with the writer,
She'll cause something to stir in me,
Vast and quiet scapes in my mind,
All pretenses are lost,
While I lay my being on hers.

Well I hate to say it but I like it,
Just a whisp of wind through the bushes,
It comes and goes,
But one thing stays the same,
In my quiet ****** world,

I'd hate to be famous and stand out,
It means I was the loudest,
I'd rather live without attention,
Not in shadow but at my own volume,

See why O why would I want to peek out,
In the lowest point?
The generation that sees the End of Days,
Would they be by any definition,
Masters of their own destinos?

You can't breathe in this hollow tomb,
The town you live in is getting to you,
Then in a fire's ignite,
You can speak again.

And what does it mean,
To be truly empty,
Completely susceptible on all sides,
Would you sing in sick lunacy,
Trading glances with only,

A mirrored version of yourself,
would it all suddenly make sense,
In climactic waves,
Like piercing truth,
And when it sunk down,
Would you believe all those lies,

Taken away by deceit,
Searching the world to believe,
In something...

Then it hits into full spin,
And I'm at it again,
A craziness built up inside of me,
Is it me?
In this little...
Or is it better asking who are they,
Quietly and running along the edges,
Across seams of soaring skies,
Coming right and saying it,
What does it all mean?
Forgetting place in the line,
Trying to rationalize all the belief,
Asking who am I and who are you
Completely backwards,
Who am I to be asking?

Destined to never be satisfied, that is me,
I will swallow the world and purge,
Wiping my mouth of the spittle, off too comes the grin,
Momentous occasions amount to invisible entrapment,
They'll try and tell me that it should be enough,
Sedated and post-op lobotomies on pedestals,
Formaldehyde jars packed with vernal reward,
Plopped on sofas staring at the **** tube barrel,
Fancier and well built imports,
**** measuring contest gone wrong,
Debt built up and drowning rats,
Tunnel vision scoped Dharman,
Wicker trinkets, frail mistreated,
Lunatics that love for the wrong reasons,
Insanity epidemic gross over-exaggeration,
Billy clubs fly from hands of misguided lawmen,
Prayers knelt under the bus benches,
***** corroding the underbelly of the social glance,
Blind blues moutharp in the corner still playing,
Trains running on time, taking the life from the patrons,
Steel breathes burnt crimson,
Foggy cauldrons from medieval nightmares,
The haggard ***** dangles her ***** precariously above,
Just an inch or two in the wrong direction,
And all this meaningless mess might be forgotten,
Books burned, learned forgotten, buildings from the sand,
Starting the sick cycle over again,
With an even wider **** eating grin,
Chartreuse Cheshire cats with inviting eyes,
Taking the breath from the first borns,
Replacing motor oil with sugar canes,
HOWLING what history has shown,
Making a prophet from the scammers and thieves,
I can't believe that we don't all see,
What my path of professed malnutrition,
Gambled stimulus, Golden fleece lined nimbus,
Never enough for the scabbed *****,
Never enough for the howling idiots in the sun,
Never enough for the lunatics undistinguished,
Surely never enough for you and me.
Continuing on snickering underhanded,
Snide underbreath worried about repercussions if found out,
Maybe even too ignorantly blissful enough to not give a ****,
Head down looking at your shoes,
Or ready to inflict a flat tire,
Graceful or oafish,
Humble sniveling whelp, prodding pious peacock,
Dividing rod stuck in the teeth of our teeth,
This is the loner society,
At least tolerance is taught in our schools,
Has anyone really learned anything?