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patty m Apr 2018
The far space is closing along a band of trees,
peelings of shadowy rind exposing ghostly hues.
All around the air is flammable,
until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.  

Strange mood around this monolithic rock
that some folks fear.
Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices.
yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant
and seeds take root.  

A strange spirit leaps into our midst
and all around there is a quick intake of breath.
Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers
though our pores.
Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force
whirls through our bloodstream,
its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams.
Attached ghost,
your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist
transposing meditation.
Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we
look with hazy speculation upon the book
with tiny red stitches we remain baffled,
turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols,
                                   but it cannot be deciphered.  
Only the creatures of the forest remember;
Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the
bells of dancing nymphs.  
Only they understand  the gifts that Gaia bestows.    
Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.
O' how they rise above each other,
the descendants of Babel!
Rebels to forefathers.
All as righteous as they seem –
to the law, but not to reality

Towers Among Towers!
unreachable by mere ones
mocking the lowlands
with their heights  
Even dreams could not fathom!

And oh, how Towers fall too,
at the top of their limit.
Catastrophe! Phenomena!
their power too is frail
because there is always
One that stands taller
than any other could avail.
When all falls, the towers will first
Dead Rose One Jun 2015
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette

resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by

the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
     that true quiet
is not the absence of noise

I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve

the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion

this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented  in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity

here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
for Sally and Rebecca, who love the lushness best....

JUNE 2015
James Khan Oct 2018
Jibreel over Gibraltar, the roc

manifests as ange de la mort

seven bowls might spill no broth

just breath, terminal; spent like dinar on Persian chiffon, subtle silk

cut cloth fashioned as emperor's clothes, opacity of stained-glass glamour

tomorrow morning
sees Gommorah mourning,
baubles of Babel crushed to dust

mascarons of Pilon hold the faces of our future sons,
gaudy birthright, swaggered flags unfurl

long nights protract,
degrees tighten like Torquemada thumbscrews

Dominican dominion in a grey Havana *******.
Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight

Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation  
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion

Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory

**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory
Leeward lecher leer lingam. Yogi yowl yoni yore.  Straight up forever ontology on high.  Pandemically phatic futurity fatidic's raucously riotous.  The angel was a visage of resplendent beauty as it hovered in mid air above the knoll.  Deontological probity.
kirk Jan 15
A starship is in orbit, around an unknown planet.
Science officer Mr Spock, is just about to scan it.
Lieutenant Uhura's on the bridge, she's on communications.
Unscrambling the garbled messages, from different alien nations.

At the weapons station, Pavel Chekov's a good aim.
Birds of Prey and battle ships, torpedoes locked on again.
Helmsman Hikaru Sulu, he will take evasive action.
Avoiding fleets of enemy ships, with his fast reaction.

Bio beds are operational, report to the sick bay.
Doctor McCoy's ready to heal, with his hypospray.
Christine chapel will assist, she is the ships top nurse.
Helping with the medi scan, if anything gets worse.

Way down in engineering, you will find Montgomery Scott.
Tending to his engines, he's giving it all he's got.
The captains personal Yeoman, will always lend a hand.
She's versatile and beautiful, and known as Janice Rand.

A planets cultural Interference, this directive is our prime.
Is Kevin Reilly going to sing, "Kathleen" one more time.
This is Starfleet's finest crew, it comes as no surprise.
Captain James T Kirk's in command of the Enterprise.

Tricorders at the ready, step of the turbo lift.
The Galileo Seven needs Dilithium, the shuttle's set adrift.
Let's look in the engine room, there's an Enemy Within.
Transporters are malfunctioning, creating an evil twin.

The Changeling Nomad got destroyed, a classic computer error.
They matched the Romulans ship exact, in Balance Of Terror.
Tomorrow is Yesterday, with a sling shot around the sun.
Phantom bullets will not ****, The Spectre of the Gun.

A shape shifting monster is aboard, a Man Trap to revolt.
Just give it what it desires, a large amount of salt.
Young men like Mr Evans, shouldn't be all that complex.
He can **** with just a look, that's why he's Charlie X.

Wasn't it the Deadly Years, when the crew got old.
Jack the ripper then returned, in Wolf In The Fold.
Pon Far fighting to the death, this was a Time Amok.
Believing captain Kirk was dead, and killed by Mr Spock.

McCoy had to heal the creature, before they could Embark.
The Horter was protecting her young, in The Devil in the Dark.
Vampire clouds smell sickly sweet, It was a valuable lesson.
Firing sooner makes no difference, cos it was a pure Obsession.

Kirk used the Corbomite Manoeuvre, Balok was just a boy.
Captain Garf took over the asylum, in Whom Gods Destroy.
A parent's death, no remorse, And The Children Shall now Lead.
Kahn's a genetically engineered superman, found frozen in Space Seed.

They had Trouble with Tribbles, too fast in reproduction.
Light In Operation Annihilate, caused the parasites destruction.
Caught in the Tholian Web, lost in between dimensions.
Mudd's Women had an agenda, and their own hidden intentions.

An Arena was selected, so Kirk could fight the Gorn.
It's guaranteed when Kirk fights, his shirt is always torn.
On a Journey to Babel, Sarek hadn't seen his son for years.
Him and Spock are logical, and both have pointed ears.

What are Little Girls Made Of, was replaced by robotic law.
Three Witches sent a warning, to beware of the Catspaw.
You will be accelerated, within the Wink Of An Eye.
Doctor McCoy will say " he's dead Jim" if anyone should Die.

United planets quest for piece, the federations ultimate desire.
The Klingon war, a warriors way, to create their own empire.
Phasers charged and set to stun, grab your communicators.
Save the ship, protect the crew from all war instigators.

The final frontier is out there, turn over treks first page.
Captain Pike was in command, and captured in The Cage.
Number one was female, but she didn't take the glory.
Pike relived The Menagerie, but it's still the same first story.

We've scanned for alien life forms, and stepped through the Guardians door.
We have been to Vulcan, and Where No Man One Has Gone Before.
So live long and prosper, the captain is on deck.
Beam up the landing party, to continue our star trek.
As many Trek fans will realise many episodes have been referenced in this poem about the original and in my opinion the best Star Trek Series.
For those of you that are not as familiar with the series here is a list of the episodes mentioned.

Season 1:

The Cage
Where No Man Has Gone Before
The Man Trap
Charlie X
The Enemy Within
Mudd's Women
What Are Little Girls Made Of ?
The Corbomite Manoeuvre
The Menagerie
Balance Of Terror
The Galileo Seven
Tomorrow Is Yesterday
Space Seed
The Devil In The Dark
Operation Annihilate

Season 2:

Amok Time
The Changeling
Journey To Babel
The Deadly Years
Wolf In The Fold
The Trouble With Tribbles

Season 3:

And The Children Shall Lead
Spectre Of The Gun
The Tholian Web
Wink Of An Eye
Whom Gods Destroy

I hope that if this is read that it will give you
a slight insight into some of the situations encountered by the crew of the Enterprise and what happened during their five year mission.
Of course if you want more detail you will have to consult Starfleet records which come on DVD discs and see for yourselves.
Is there more to come well who knows, space is of course infinite and there are always possibilities.
Connor Apr 2018

Somnambulists cast
paradise magic, allowing a thimble to fall
upon the floor of our private heaven
(a perfect disquiet to our loving)

We daily reveal our reclusive
sensitivities, a flash (a lowered head, laughing distinctly)
Trailing close behind German poets/path of devotion, a second summit of their passionate influence, rippling generations ago now:

(vineyards caught by grasping suddenness/placating daytime/fig & flame/false tower of Babel, ornamental ruin/he feels owed the sensations of an active spirit, to repent the contrary forces within him/myself)

                      & upon my reflection in the Cabaret of ****,
I see a gate perched at the base of my wondrous

                    BLUE MOON                 WALLFLOWER

(or perhaps the other way around?)

Overtaken by oscillating darkness/hall of mirrors (memories)
distorted flashbulb *** and anger

until the acts become indistinguishable from themselves/doubly
******* tigers brushstroked in animal blood... essence of devour/temper/
captivation, incredible lips, pulp teeth, pure excitement all disfigured
& joyous


My azzurine goddess, faced away in
shame, no wonder why!

(hair let down in a drowsy spill of
uncertain hours, wavering in a sullen high, thickly feeling,
the immensity/pleasure renounced for a cabbalist subliminity)

Mockery of the dead dead dog/blind in boyhood/while
curious ghosts skate across the ice-peripheral of our dreaming

I feel love, and horror/a frigid hand who's body I have dissolved-
-caressing my back tenderly
bordering terrific malevolence

...Later, in another try at my own eternal return, I find my comfort brother, accompanied by an overhead
divination lantern..

pounding! At the sun skull, for you (my cherished)
are of high order
I tempt soaking the cloth,
to steer the intention

..missing black mass, indulging instead
on feverish Damascus perfume

Splash ramp
down. Flesh, wailing
hidden by darkly earth to inevitably
decay by their self-solitude

(descent writhes in the milk of heartache
and cusps the night firmly in his *****
withering palms)

I refuse this fate, and
in Western-fashion
fire down the city worshipper which was once
I, too        (unmercifully so)

..burying his bones in the Scottish dirt

Terrarium hydrangeas, pale (yourIrises) lipstick daggers
slashing in the white sleeve-
red with epicurean


Big bad wolf
banished to his hole,
I kiss the winter fruit clean from your mouth (succumbing to pinnacles of fire/your lost domain) ******* on pebbles, trying to ***** through the surface
like a dragon's egg for pride
(big bad wolf is hungry)
We wear away the season, memorizing the newspapers
which are tossed carelessly to our door. Ah, the kitchen ballet dancers are finally tired..endowed to the triplicate beauty
that we individually define (takes a bit to get there)

You/I privileged to ******* Venice with our mutual
imagination,                              owing to Calvino

To crave eachother
as an Acrobat craves the

Bryce Feb 13
At the ending of the world
there is a great unraveling
that celestial bow, wound into heartsong
and maestrate the caring music of things--
with these passions of the mind,
God seeking to unravel himself in the ever-fleeing
moment of philosophy, a Persephonic instance
in the archetype of love, psychotic and misnamed,
strait-jacketed in sin and given nothing but sweet
momentary decay

all the powerful souls connect sexually with the cosmos--
payed off, bastardized with a cigarette between their whispered lips
we hold no wealth but the ever-shifting dollar of life.

Fat Jack, fondly Catholic with angel smiles-- holds a rock of God in his hand, rocking softly
in god's busted gut-belly
spread like butter amongst the stars, asking all the same questions of Nirvana--
The last rumble of a skin-tight drumskin wrapped within a screaming symphonic twang of remnant souls--
Walking the notochord of corporeal form
the fantastic drone of rotorcraft, taunting the angelic lads and their brigadier God, singing psalms of limerence
Charlie Parker, musical sadness
Jack-man gladness
Don't forget them in the moment of monastic incantations

High-risen pyramidicals
Euclidian pitter-patter against the gusts and rains
in familiar, repetitive shapes the droplets of ichor
elucidate the frowns of downtown humanity
the locked door at the edge of the room, the air evacuated in fear,
seeking safety in the favorite belfry of an ancient wailing abbey
the dusty oil-towns of century ago
Imbibes the modern-day Maricopa plain
folk digging for dino-rock and black gold, selling dreams to downtrodden lost boys
the mistakes of RV park families

Farmland road
in Louisiana brew
the atmosphere, keeping personal thoughts trapped
a high-pressure zone
the ever-wandering
churning winds of eventual hurricane
the sequence that tickles Fibonacci's fancies and
calls us to dream--
a great Babel of God's consistent scattering heart.

in this great combustible chamber, loud obnoxious gaseous veils
in a low sigh our precipitate souls
smog on the failed shackles of stale blood
dripping this oil on the lips
holding friendly smiles
hiding sickening grins
callous, angry, the honey-chalice sought be not by man or God

Charlie Parker, playing the world's instrumentation
a track to follow
faded as the ancient road roaming
Rome's wet snail trail
blinking and shimmering into existence
a dewlit morning
the conglomerate rock is a cradle for human discomfort
admitted and hidden
to be a better hold than the hands of the earth
in these cornmeal roads,
digging out sugars from her *****
and sipping on the liquor of life in classic fermentation

to hold the road in your hands, the world on your lips
to tell the catacombs of love you would be her hostess,
seeking answers in the bones of ancient souls and refining
in deep sighs,
loving the things we cannot be.
Rashmi Oct 2018
Whatever I want to say in real went wrong everytime....
The gap between my heart and my mind never gonna combine...
Those eyes which seems magical, if they have any real thrill?
That mind which I love the most, Can I get a chance to see it's coast?
Trust which I built a long time ago, do i show it everytime to make you roast?
Yes, I feel jealous when I see the ducks around you,
"Sorry" ain't the word I want to listen but your heart beats,
I love to stay quiet when it's only your babel,
"Self-respect" I know what it means, but is it necessary everytime to scream?
Do I need to say things to prove everything?
Or your mind is enough to read the unspoken words.
Ralph Akintan Dec 2018
I heard your voice
Echoed sonorous voice pierces ears
Engrossing underneath babel of voices.
But this gurgling sounds l understand not.
Call me father.

I heard your rumbling,
Of a thunderous grumbling.
Velvety voice arrests attention.
Disturbing ranting of disturbers
Saying sounds strange
to hearing.
Now call me father.

Babylonian wall of distance ,
Spottering sentinels standing.
Seven seas,
seven streams.
Multiple ravines,
multiple ranges.
One terminus,
Gamut of posts.

Stretch forth your tender hands,
Reach out to me.
Similitude of aura
Similar light complexion
Bonding bloodline
Sameness in character.

Now l comprehended your voice
Distinct language
Encore my name
Call me father again
Mention my cognomen.
Johnny Noiπ Dec 2018
The potato sauces was
married within two minutes,
looking like a little milk with
1 pirate looking Greek Indian
style. Dang bin confidence
our house mortgage loan and
women of the new loans.
According to the river, the
upper part of the pupil of the
animal receives 500 Germany,
Iraq, Iran, London, London,
August 2, 1000, Washington,
May 1000 Steve Patterson,
Address 2: South American
Cancer and other diseases.
Tom Isidoras SGL, no worries
DBMM the Diablo Amiragar -
Music in Japan, Gabon Bongo
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EPIPAL not wait for the new
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Blaze May Grammatize...
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
. 'as for those poets, only the perverse follow them. do you not see that they go too far in every direction and say things, which they cannot do?' (ash-shu'ara/the poets 26:224-226).

call them what you like,
the Huguenots,
for all i care...

   you always side with
the "heretics"...
   given that, "said" heretics
retain some cultural value
relativism of other cultures,
namely in the form of
depiction -

    since why would, "the word"
be deemed holy,
                rather than donning
a bikini of "iconoclasm"...
         when words... are at
the meat-market of copyright -
what with © coca cola?

                 sunni islam would have
never allowed sufism...
  but Farsi does...
  and will continue...
since no Iranian will bow
before an Arab within the schematics
of history...

          Sunni Islam, it's Wahhabi sentimentality...
so why persist in signing
the Adhan?
   why not speak in a honing like
drone sentiment of plain speech?
i thought all music was banned?
the current Adhan is a form
of music... isn't it? BAN IT!

    you never side with these Sunni
muslims, exploiting Bangladeshi labor,
you side with the heretics of Iran...
these *******, i can at least respect...
      no fast cars, convenient ongoing
cultural insurrections -
       Afghan women's poetry,
and all that much closer to Hindu mysticism...
yeah... "islamophobia":
but only against Sunni Islam...
   but Shia Islam?
   no problem...
   i could stomach these peoples
like i could stomach the in-between
of the Turkish variant -
no ideology - simply, pure, power throttle...

i could make a great Janissary -
with a Turkish barber...
         for a great trim of hair and beard...
i'd cast a shadow on some
obscure chocolatier of Brussels
who thinks himself a politician...

     but there are certain aspect of Islam
i am willing to tolerate...
   what happened to the son in law
of Muhammad, namely, Ali...
was raw ******* kicking...

               promises, promises...
no promises...
           Shia Islam, as an European,
i can tolerate, Turkish Islam, i can tolerate...
Turkey is incrementally shy
of being treated at the 2nd variant of Iran...
at least with Iran, we share a history
via the insurrection into the ancient
texts through Greece...

  come to think of it...
whenever i listen to
matta's song echo babylon...
i start feeding myself goosebumps,
reminding myself
of Cyrus... Nebuchadnezzar...
and the dim-wit that was

always siding with the heretics...
if not on economic groundwork,
then at least motivating,
rather than monetizing an idea...

and the Shia muslims are...
    one way or another...
   unlike the gluttons of Dubai...
the barbie dolls of postage stamp
"proof" of progress,
in size, and worth...

   Sunni Islam would have
never allowed poetics to remain
a viable form of expression -
the Persian tradition that is,
far beyond the western concern
for a comment section...

         Shia Islam allows patronage
of the arts, notably poetry,
without concern for monetary
funding, it, at least, doesn't prohibit it...
given the pride of the Persians...
Sunnis and their continual quest
for finding water...
    sure... poetry is pointless within
such restrictions of
existential concerns...
    but... given the current, civilized
   sky-scrapers in *******
sand dunes?

         the qu'ran should have
forbidden the architectural ambitions
equivalent to the tower of babel
being erected, in environments,
that could never sustain said projects...

    and who originally spewed the term
Sunni Islam...
        i never liked this strand of belief...
i hate the Sunnis like
a Shia partisan...

p.s. it's called patriotism is America...
but nationalism in Europe...
    you sure that's not a synonym?
Europeans can't be patriotic,
and Americans are never nationalistic?
LR Thompson Sep 2018
Why cant we do more?
Be more?
Reach for Babel!

All stories told.

Yet we remain cattle,
Chained like links,
Tied by bonds,
We CAN do more,
But first we must unravel,
Travel the infinite highways
Of the mind,
Rewind the needle
And pull the thread.
Shed the unnecessary
That necessitates a clarity,
Away from the herd
Toward the ultimate

To do more,
One must first,
Johnny Noiπ Oct 2018
The desire for the first time for women,
women,    girls,  'sailors with faces of red snow',
men, for a night of men,  black,   with long hair
with the white,         white blacks she has lifted
the donkeys' eyes that had been killed last year
in a dark place,                        a continuation of the worst death of the plants,
I am now in the world,                 young people
are the great picture of the Great God,
leaving Even though it is not enough to buy,
however,           Jesus lives in the United States
Lighthouse of the United States,            which has the tendency to find blood
and the hair of his head not possible
for old men to say in the middle square;
The Review of our genius is black in the imagination
of American children who have the flexibility
of children of golden                                        golden gold to spread realistic,
three-way traps, to heaven, the Babylonians
of the time's glass-stone cake,           Then buying and haggling over women,
girls shipped to Alaihi, a red face, man to man,
that night, the mother of darkness until the head,
legs black and white 'is delivered to *****
the year killed the black death is a continuation of life,
especially in plants, now worldwide ,        from a great big picture of the left
and we have to purchase the Jesus of the sea,
the couple is living in the States of America in glorious fashion,
and it has an inclination to find ****** hair;
**** can a child be born to say that in the middle
of the street for six review of the blues   |
from the American pole's dark heaven's ||
bright ideas of the young boy with a suitably gold
or gold mined from the elements by children
in three ***** shifts at the time of glass Babylonian Stone,
caked teeth of wild beasts and the doctor's group
of voices is what it is, I stand, lay, placed,
it is in the coming of the Lord, brown,
with the loss of the unseen,                     but with all the utmost of his power,
it is the Secret of the house, it was filled with them
that are born ***, of music,                          of sleep,          leaving us an, um,
and I taught the boy to fall very quickly,
how to beat cake one has put the wild beast
of the Medes to write;                           Voices of What is a team of the Lord,
standing to get the Lay of the brown doctrine
of the years
of the winds of the blind,                                          but with all their powers,
The Secret house filled with *** children,
slipping out of track of music, a lot of fall
I learned a young boy on the way, hit him,
Taught him to love of time of the woman,
of the women,
ships of the girls, lives of the eyes of the red
and *****,
the crowd,           for the man who was night,
of the mother of the black, with long skin
with a warm white foot the blacks'
putting dead *** eyes that have been Republicked ​​
last year ago in a dark place,       the continuation
of a beautiful snooch's death
among the plants,       I have now the world,
for the young people there is a great picture
of The Great Goddess,   leaving the even to sleep,
to buy, however,       Jesus living in the sea
strengthens the United States of America's
fiery torch that sparks the cosmetics of seeing
the blood and the **** of his hair is impossible
for old boys to say that in the middle
of six squared Renewal has been our *** woman
Bluebell out of America's humorous texture
of thinking kids with golden gold lubricant,
a child is spread open to receive true nutrients,
three *****, going to heaven, the Babylonian-style,
style of times of stone-glass, bicycle cake
putting up a wild animal of the Medes to teach
the Voice,              Whose is the peoples of the,
wait;    A Layman took on the doctrine of the brown advent
of the year of the mistress of the winds of the blind,
but it w with all their strength,        The Secret of the house
filled with *** children, leaving his dream of music
a lot of the Fall,   I write sweet enough for a kid in the way,
hit him,                 The love of the time of the women,
of the woman, the husband of the girl's life of the eye,
the red girl is *****, the people went to the man that night,
that the mother of the black, with long bodies
with the hot white the feet of the poet's dead ***;
the face of that R that years ago was a dark place,
the progress of a beautiful snooch is the death of the plants,
I am now of the earth, of young people is a great art,
Great Goddess leaving the skin to the sun,
bringing money, though, Jesus' living seas forming
the United dung fire was a golden dream of poetry stars
to find blood and live like **** in his hair, to be difficult,
*****'s old kids call the middle six squares
the renewal of our brotherhood,                           ******* the female blue sky
out of history,                        the word 'American' is cool thinking baby stuff;
has the gold moon lost a child,                       turned true to the frankincense,
three ***** old men,                                                             walking to heaven,
the Greek Barbie the form of the times
of the stone-glass figures, the glory of a small wild animal
of the Medusa to write; the Voice Who's the man,
standing, Laying hold on the instructions;
a Brown graduate the arrival of the year
of the mistress of the winds of the blind,
but she W. with all their might, The Secret of the house
was filled with *** son,      leaving his dreams of music,
a lot about Fall I write sweet to a kid in pieces,
beat her, To buy a, and the women that are virgins
'Alaihi' wants red waters, the eyes of the people,
who were of the night, the darkness,         the parent of the head and the feet, black and white, black death, of the *****,
and the year of the continuation of life,
especially of a plant is already in the world,
out of the picture to the left, and great in thee
to buy of the sea, even to the Lord Jesus,
who was living in the two United States of Americas is glorious,
and he does not have even the tribes of the living creatures
in the time of the eggs of a single syllable
of what glass the doctor, I lay a stone of Babel,
moved by the dirt in the dark of the mysterious of God,
Secret for the loss of the house was filled
with the power of God unto them,
for they were all of the highest art,               ***, music,
while they sleep,
leaving us an, um, boy taught by me
to fall down quickly        on the beat
James Floss Oct 2018
Everything I know
I am learning now, the
What why where and how
Subcutaneous instantaneous
Transliteration transcriptions

The you you don’t know undertow
Burbles beneath the underflow
Below Babel is the true power
Speaking truth beyond tower
Is the way to flow

— The End —