I could run away to you, world.
drink in your every scent, the dust
the hurt.

backpedal through Venetian streets,
high-five Buddhist monks,
paddle softly through the Dead Sea,
eat Vietnamese fish with blind children,
pound out piles of dough in back-alley German bakeries,
kiss the single root of an aspen tree
and post it all online.

grinning like a devil, silently screaming
*my life is better than yours
my life is better than yours

1.) tizzop introduced gangsta poetry february 2021
     no man ever before created a poetry genre alike
     gangsta poetry, robust melting *** of languages
     and ethnicities, as it reflects the united states

2.) the idols of gangsta poetry are rooted in the
      underworld, blacks, hispanics, italo- and irish-
      americans, asians, arabs, germans, kurds,
      yugos, albanians, afghans, northern-africans...

3.) multilingual are the core, heart and soul of
     a gangsta poem: glockz, rubix cubies, 31er
     salam, jebeš igru, habibis, brüder, fo' sho':
     rapid months, frozen silverfruit, whole ones

4.) every letter of gangsta poetry becomes the
     side effects of our brand's real-life greed and fury
      mourning the end of beloved baby mommas
      deaths caused by strayed bullets that vamoose

5.) gangsta poetry aims to be published among
      all ethnic communities of the 50 united states
      deadline 08/16/21 stresses american willpower
      gangsta poetry scandalously hits us's curriculas

6.) each of the 194 remaining countries is urged
     to promote and govern gangsta poetry for
     the neglected, weighted with glacial contempt
     these males and females discover their kind in us

7.) tizzop established a saying: "treat every being  
     with an open mind, but fight back, baby, if anyone
     disrespects you, the gps, or our hangarounds"
     at war, we remember our families before we blast

8.) bar none, each gangsta poet is free to connect
      affiliate and distribute with and for the gp's
      brothas and sistas -- gps create examples of
      social diversity and historical dimensions

9.) female gangsta poets are a quarter of us
      some keep it gal, united sisterhood, astute flow
      in memory of leery leyla, chalondra, kateyy,
      mountainbird, ivanka cociç, ashima abraham

10.) genderfree, gangsta poets are chosen
        undertakings composed by thugs & artists
        the spirit of a few meets strife of hood speech
        gp evolved from a movement to an own identity

11.) restrictions do not apply for written creation
        strategic outgrowth and unshaken cash flow
        gp embraces brainy ones, and our soldiers
        narrators in conspiracy, art nouveau trips

12.) gangsta poetry admires the following people:
        jeezy, killa cam, toni der assi, iron sal, dmx
        anton chigurh, sigmund freud, rashid stoogie
        larry hoover, elliot york hp, kevin of allpoetry

13.) taktloss, luis fonsi, blockmonsta, all bolivian
        and peruvian farmers, te amamos, our brothers
        187 strassenbande, senion mogilevich, nirvana
        john murphy, dem dudes alpha hotel frankfurt

14.) much love to all global units, poets, thieves
        traffic architects, hackers, true skippos
        german bakeries, all-black betting shops
        jews from brighton beach, hispanic halos

15.) benny da bandit, tony tarantula, gambino, brate
        hamza al-mighty, fat **** frank, jens, das brain
        fred merciless, familia escorpio, ruben and levi
        ali firefists, kimbo slice, scarface, oleksiy, dejan

16.) daim, loomit, dns 1up, **** my **** crew
        berlin kreuzberg 36ers, playboys hannover
        yard bird 1955, taki 183 n.y.c., basquiat, level
        dbl ffm-skychildren, bomber, city mission
    
17.) gangsta poetry overwhelmingly shaped by
       our ancestors who boosted the poetry of ages
       train bombers, rappers, trappers, taggers, cutters
       we descent from them, honor their names

18.) gangsta poets die for poems that struck
        gps, fans and critics in a possessive way
        limits of real talk and boasting are in flux
        trance batters the face of reason, at dusk


                                          *


Once upon a time at March 22nd, 2021
Kreuzberg SO 36, Berlin, Germany...
Dedicated to all Gangsta Poets Worldwide

Heaven and hell yeah, disciples outpace seconds
Greetings from Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic City

A legendary sweet tooth, had Lady Felicity Barratt
So swift towards the sugar bowl, so wary of the carrot
She dined on only trifle from a honey coated spoon
But tooth decay accosted her and left her in a swoon

By the time she turned just twenty, her two front teeth were gone
By thirty she was running short and on her final one
When that fell out, she sought a dentist, promptly one arrived
She opened up her grizzly mouth and in the fella dived

He took a cast and took his leave with dentures to be hewn
With satisfaction guaranteed by Friday afternoon
And never did the lady have a reason to suspect
The secret intervention of an evil dental sect

By bribing several bakeries and sweetie shops and stalls
A dossier had been compiled within their sacred halls
For crimes against good dentistry were nothing short of sin
Their retribution must be swift or people might join in

Upon that self same Friday, at the very cusp of noon
One Doctor Bingo Rogers and his burly hired goon
Came knocking at her premises with dental kit and drills
With a mission to sedate her and to exercise their skills

They knocked her out with ethanol and chloroform and air
And strapped her to a hastily erected dentist's chair
The evil teeth were lodged in place and ******* into her gums
The bill was quite extortionate, for monumental sums

The shamanic orthodontist, with his henchman in his wake
A martyr to the vegetable and nemesis of cake
Was keen to see his handiwork and kept a watchful eye
For curious occurrences as days went quickly by

By Christmas there was nothing, until on New Year's Eve
Her teeth got uncooperative and forced the girl to leave
They dragged her by her dainty face and led her to the shops
She stood and munched on sugar canes and giant lollipops

They stuffed her face with chocolates, still nestled in their packets
And then a rack of nylon shirts and seven leather jackets
On every size of shoe, she munched; from sixes up to twelves
She nibbled through the party food and gnawed upon the shelves

Then off she sped, into the street, to pursue a passing horse
Dragged along by wicked teeth and supernatural force
But dentures lack in vision, and especially at pace
So when she caught it by the foot she caught it in the face

She skidded to a grizzly halt with arms and legs all twisted
And next to her, a note with all her dental errors listed
So beware the wrath of dentists and obey when they command
And sleep with one eye open and a carrot close to hand

For though our poor Felicity was buried good and hard
Despite floral cupcake with the Dental Cult's regard
And though her body, to this day, lies safely in the ground
The horse escaped that evening and the teeth were never found...

Urban Community Living:

Some days I actually noticed how grey it was
All of this space, here around us
As our half-beaten stone trodden 52 bus
Rolls into its unfortunate terminus.
Terminal more like.

The shops have boarded windows,
Bakeries have bullet-proof counters
Staffed by bulky bakers-***-bouncers
A praised underground centre for perilous shopping
Dodge rival factions on various floors
Fighting for stair supremacy
And burly painted girls with latent spent applause

Some colour on the underpass is some relief
Only it warns of impending doom
for someone soon

Angels and cancer
Two TOTALLY dIfFeReNt things
My world
                    C
                       O
                           L
                     L
                   A
                          P
                              S
                           E
                        D
                                        when you died
My lungs stopped breathing and my heart beating
I miss just sitting watching Wheel Of Fortune or Jeopardy  
with you stroking my hair
I miss going to the bakeries
and pretty much  E  V   E  R  Y  W  H  E  R  E

I still have your bracelets
and wore them on my birthday
They make me feel closetoyou
and not so far                        a               w                                    a                                 y

When I see angels, chickens, bakeries, or antique shops
I feel comfort and see you
I really hope you know that even though we're apart,
I still really love you

This letter is for my Grandma Liz
and I hope she knows how much we miss her
I still have her angels but
her love will always be more than a

w
    h
       i
         s
           p
              e
                 r

I miss having you around to say the little things you would say to me, to make it ok. Sweet little lies, perhaps. Perhaps not.

I miss your eyes, with that twinkle inside, with the exclamation points after them, with those crinkles on the edges, especially when you are all vulnerable and cuddly. Funny the weird details that come back up in your memories.

I miss interrupting and correcting you, in the rudest way possible.

I miss you correcting me and then I will pout and give you the saddest eyes and make you laugh at my childishness.

I miss how you looked and pointed at me 2 inches from my face on the bed, and declared, “i LIKE you”.

I miss watching Californication with you, propped up on pillows.

I miss eating junk food and beer while we watch cool youtube videos in the evenings or the mornings.

Or cracking up to a comedy skit.

Sitting with wine at 4am wolfing down tortilla chips, turning over existential ideas in our minds.

I miss you soaping my body in the shower and I miss soaping yours and I miss you making love to me everywhere we did.

On the counter In the closet Against the door On the couch In the shower On the toilet seat down On a mountain downhill Against trees in the forest In your childhood bedroom On the beach In a tent On a log bridge over a brook In the center of a woods clearing

I wanted you to Take me

everywhere.

I miss the forced cigarettes in the cold winter air, or the muggy summer

I miss our trips through this grubby city, trudging through autumn leaves and stopping in clothing stores and markets and city squares, staring at musicians and artists with admiration and jealousy, and bakeries to get your pastry fix and buying hats,pretending we’d last til the winter.

I miss our secret getaways and gossip sessions.

I miss painting and bleeding and dancing and crying and smoking and drinking and singing karaoke and slobbering and running and stopping and stalling and slumping and getting lost.

I miss fantasizing of alternative realities and cities undiscovered. I miss your wisdom-filled advise given to me, and my childlike prudity you brought out of me.

I miss shoving you playfully and skipping down a road together. I miss the smell of Doves men’s soap on your skin and the bristle of your chest hair- the just the right amount of – against mine, smooth.

It was a spectacular Love affair, one for the records for sure. How i miss playing with you>>> How i wish we can play All the time, and keep it quiet so that Reality cant hear us, wild and reckeless, and I’ll grow up on the side of all of it, and you too, if you can, But all the while leaving me behind with you in our eternal playroom, making love in all the ways we did…

One little Two little Three little Indians….

The day I left, I forgot to pack self-consciousness.
It was all too easy to reach into the mirror
and pull out my imperfections like saltwater taffy.
Then I ate them.
I wondered as I boarded the plane,
I wondered why my hands weren’t clenched in unrevealing fists,
I wondered why my eyes didn’t flicker to the person
behind me in front of me to my left to my right over here over there.
Perhaps my eyes were now focused on the clouds above and new lands below.

The day I left, I neglected to pack loneliness.
I roamed a new city, so alive, my lungs made room for more crisp
cigarette-infused air and I sat on the steps of a grand opera hall for hours
watching people walk, talk, listen, look, shop, love, learn, pretend, remember.
I understood why my arms did not ache
from the strain of carrying this lonesomeness,
I understood why there was so much beauty
in being a person submerged among thousands of people.
I realized it was a privilege I had been abusing for far too long.

The day I left, I refused to pack fear.
It unsettled my stomach and dampened most of the fun.
I left it there, tucked and stowed neatly away under my plane seat,
sending it back to where I came from and hoping
that the flight attendants would do a thorough cleaning.
I realized why some people got lost on purpose,
that there was fearlessness in not knowing
your north from south from west from east.

The day I came back, I carried
another missing piece of my vagabond heart.
I found it drifting in the strains of a street musician’s Vivaldi,
found it etched into the wooden signs above cafes and bakeries
found it in the spitting passion of lips and linguistics.
I recognized the part of me that was scattered across continents
and I brought it back home.

come all you story readers
be you young or be you old
to the land of sir dolly dimple
were fairytales unfold
not so far away
and not so long ago
lived a boy named dolly dimple
and a horse named dynamo
they lived in a land of tyrants
were fear and greed was bred
yet this boy called dolly dimple
had a halo on his head
he grew to be a decent man
big and brave and strong
he rode the land on dynamo
to put right all that's wrong
he rescued damsels in distress
he put dragons fires out
he made the land a safer place
he was loved beyond all doubt
yet as he grew so famous
so did the boy next door
the wicked tyrant gordon
did evil deeds galore
now gordon was a wicked boy
who grew to be an evil man
to undo the good deeds dolly did
was gordons master plan
now gordon hated good sir dolly
ever since they both were boys
cos sir dolly quite by accident
broke one of gordons toys
so gordon kidnapped all the princesses
and locked them in his tower
to grind down all the corn he grew
and turn it into flour
he crept into peoples houses
to steal kids from there bed
to work in his bakeries
to turn his flour into bread
then he sent out all the orphans
to work on the street
seling his bread
to the people they,d meet
then he bought up all the houses
with the money he made
and doubled the rent
that the poor people paid
now everybody panicked
shouted screamed and bawled
till someone suggested
the mayor should be called
now the mayor listened carefully
and when he heard it all
he picked up his phone
and gave sir dolly a call
he quickly told sir dolly
what was going on
on dolly said dont worry mayor
i,ll be right along
so he dressed in his armour
loaded his pop gun
climbed up on dynamo
and his good deed had begun
he rode up to the tower
scaled the walls of stone
peeped into the window
to see the princesses were alone
when he saw it was all clear
he climbed into the tower
and made a big rope ladder
from the bags that held the flour
so sir dolly and the princesses
climbed down to the ground
and he took them all home safely
except 4 one he found
she was princess of the orphans
princess clare was her name
sir dolly fell in love with her
princess clare felt the same
now sir dolly had a mission
he knew he must go alone
so he dropped off princess Clare
at the mayors home
princess Clare  told sir dolly to take care
he said dont worry i,ll be back
with the wicked tyrant gordon
******* in a sack
so he rode off on dynamo
to the bakery door
so he could free all the children
so they could sleep once more
he kicked down the door
took off every chain
rode them all home
and tucked them back in bed again
then he rode to the orphanage
and hid in bushes by the gate
he knew gordon would come back 4 the kids
all he had to do was wait
first thing in the morning
just as it got light
he saw gordon coming
so he jumped out of sight
sir dolly shouted gordon
we meet again at last
i,ve come to punish you 4 all ur crimes
ur evil days are past
yet gordon was so quick
he turned and as he fled
sir dolly pulled his pop gun out
and shot him in the head
all gordon cud do
was fall with a shout
as the cork from dollies pop gun
quickly knocked him out
so dolly tied gordons hands up
tight behind his back
then picked up evil gordon
and dropped him in a sack
he put gordon on dynamos back
tied him on with his tail
rode him back to town
and threw him into jail
now the whole town cheered
and shouted dolly,s name
and gave him a medal
for stopping gordons evil game
now princess Clare
gave dolly a big kiss
and everybody cheered again
and not long after this
sir dolly and princess Clare
became husband and wife
and lived happily ever after
for the rest of there life

In Chinatown it is busy
Bikes go real fast down streets that are dark, covered with crumpled up chinese newspapers and what looks like the aftermath of a thousand party poppers
Colored paper that slowly disappears into the wind as the day goes on
An old man is wearing a sign on his chest
He speaks of anger towards the Japanese
How they have not rightfully paid China back for all the damage and heartbreak they caused in wars past

In Chinatown it is different
The air is soft, but the area is buzzing with people
I sit down at one of the bakeries
Here I am at peace
Here, although there is no one to talk to in english
I feel listened to

Numbers on the back of your hand
A metal mental breakdown
"I go to bakeries all day long, there's a lack of sweetness in my life"
And the nights get colder and colder
Bodies get hotter and hotter
The full moon is never as exciting as the last one
Past one, almost two
Three, four, five, find something to do
Call the boys, call your girls
Sunday is funday, and Thursdays are my Fridays
Inhale fast to make it last
This is the best part of the song

Go out and search for yourself.
Find small pieces of you in the veins of a friend
Or inside the forest.
Find your soul sprinkled in some foreign city
Miles away from home
Or in your backyard
Mingling among the flowers.
Search for the bakeries
That call your name from within
Or the stranger that smiles at you as you pass.
Search yourself out;
There, you will find, is the purest reflection of you.

When you are all done for the day,
And u end it with a small prayer.

When the birds fly back to their nests,
Seek shelter  and take some rest.

When the busy streets are empty,
Closed are all bakeries and pantries.

When the skies turn dark,
Sails in the moon in its cloudy ark.

You buzz off to the land of peace,
No worries full of ease,
No joy no pain!
No loss no gain!

~Farheen zehra

It's the day after
I've spent the memories on other things
I sat at a candled table
eased into wicker chairs
with plush cushions
and cigarette smoke coiling into the humid air.

I-among others- wet our tongues on sweet wine
and sampled crumbled cake from antique bakeries
sipped steaming tea from tin kettles
and laughed as coins jingled in our pockets
and happiness jostled against our souls.

I spent the day after
not thinking about that hurt
but rather forgetting for a while
that just the day before
you had fallen far
in my estimations.

i've been awake since 6am
i'm running on two and a half hours of sleep
i've been on the road since 7am
and i'm writing this at 1pm
i'm thinking about greggs sausage rolls
thinking about where i'm going in life
thinking about when this road will end
thinking about slowthai's yugioh cards
thinking about how much i love frank ocean
thinking about how i interpolate milo lyrics to fit my life
though i probably couldn't tell you what his words mean
thinking about how i drift from one person to the next
desperately searching for a new friend to cling to
thinking about why i didn't shave my face
for two weeks i was scared that with a blade in reach
i'd be tempted to slice my throat
if i drowned, would my body float?
thinking about how i should cut my hair
thinking about how i can act cuter
thinking about that coil girlfriend
but maybe i'll go for a boy instead
i burned my mouth on a greggs sausage roll again
so it looks like it's all going to plan
sometimes i view greggs as a temple
and the sausage roll is my zen master
i find solace in cheap british bakeries
just like how i find peace in a black man's philosophies
today i'll get my groceries from the nostrum grocers
and write poems at the apex of my sleepiness
this road is only going one way
and i can't go back to pick up the pieces
so i collect what i can to stitch together a new tapestry
made out of the few remaining pieces of the old me
maybe one day driver will say i have perfect hair
thinking about how excited i am to read tallen's messages on discord
it's nice hearing about his l5r discourse
thinking about how i promised to deliver instrumentals for quetzal
but i never did get started on them
thinking about my friend gabe's new album
and how i wish i had richard dawson's falsetto
and how i wish someone would hug me
but if i admitted that, that'd feel pretty needy of me
i don't know when this road will end
maybe i'm stuck on here forever
immortalised in the asphalt like a dead bird
approach me like you would your dad hanging in trafalgar square
i used to smile in every selfie
now it's a chore to smirk at all
but it ain't all bad
i might make curry on saturday
or maybe i'll make chicken soup
and it'll be better than hers
because i'll make sure to remove the bones

1.
A young and spiky boy misheard me over a pile of handcrafted valentines and said "I love you, too"
("I think I broke my tooth")

2.
A pseudo-intellectual boy grabbed at my hand and told me that we are all made of stardust, that the universe is swift and fleeting and our matter will remain etched in the very high and infinite heavens
(But do you know that I myself am made of moon dust and rose petals, laced with arsenic?)

3.
A not-very-lonely boy bought me a grilled cheese sandwich at the witching hour that he paid for with his dead father's inheritance money
(Money that I dipped in ranch dressing and inhaled in the form of a black American Spirit)

4.
A boy with jawbones made of steel called me in the middle of the night to tell me that he was nothing but a very weak and ancient stone foundation and what is the most effective method of destruction
(I told him I'd trade in my metal detector for a plane ticket to Egypt)

5.
A semi-dependent variable of a boy I had known years ago flew a kite for me in a cold and cloudless sky and hit me til I kissed him
("It's because we're getting older", I said)

6.
A boy who I might have loved named our children on the back of a game of hangman and hung up magazine pictures I stole on walls his girlfriend was more familiar with than she was with me
(I switched seats)

7.
A boy of questionable moral fiber said words I spent two years trying to say back
(One-sixteenth of them are buried in a box I'm all too willing to leave at the old house)

8.
A boy with eyes uncovered in countless concentration camps left after filling the gaps in my very sheltered universe with vegan bakeries, baseball tees, leftover curry and one-sock feet
(But I digress)

i want to wake up to the sound of an accordion playing on the quiet cobblestone streets and have the heat of the Mediterranean sun kiss my skin as i walk into a local coffee shop and order a chocolate biscotti i want to walk the cobblestone streets of Venice and visit little bakeries and as the night falls i want to sit under an olive tree outside under the moonlight and drink dry red wine with the love of my life

“Why do you want it all from me?”

I halt our conversation,
with wine redder than my boney elbows
in a glass tipped at swollen, drunk lips.
Hesitation knows me best;
my breath laps heady from my throat
and I blush from exhaustion & fear.

“I am okay without it all. I don’t need anything from anyone.” I tell these lies often. You say nothing back. You've none to give.

What is all! But an eternity’s worth of want, a list
of things cherished and bought in bakeries
or vacation homes, empty until wanted...

that wine sat in my belly and warmed it
I didn’t drink water
I didn’t need it
I wanted much from you that night
the milk of conversation would never be enough

I wanted the soul, the songs, the sight of your eyes inches from mine illuminated by morning’s soft gracious dawn.
I wanted a ******* miracle to eat.

All, was something I never enumerated in you,
simply assumed, and realized soon after how
I would never succumb to wanting too much.
And now my plate lies empty.

I gave all I gathered to appease you;
you, and the trepidation you carried sea to sea.
I should’ve explained my red want.
How it was dried and mistaken for a cranberry,
how I lacked the effort to show you more, all

I craved all. But I found you had none to share.

the morning is kind...
silence fills the empty streets
where drunken people like sailors
once roamed,
now they sleep soundly
with the early breeze cradling them

bakeries and flower shops open,
the mailmen and delivery girls
make their way through quiet neighbourhoods,
the early birds rise
with a vision of coffee and breakfast,
and the sunlight is gentle on the skin—
go outside or sit by the window to feel it.
it kisses you,
inviting you start the daw anew.

As the morning sun cleared
the mist above the fields
harrowed with precision,
as cars hurried their servants
to serve,
as trains were running late,
and bakeries were busy,
a uniformed procession of capped men
and neatly trimmed women gathered
outside a tawny little church
in a sleepy little town
known for its irrelevance;
A serviceman expired here,
this last night of winter.
Whether from illness or old age,
gradually or
in a flash of chaos,
his mirror admits no more
the faces of those who shared his world,
and have now come to congress
and to remain
in the feasting sun of this first day of spring.
As blackbirds hush and tickle bush,
as more cars wiggle and park,
as naked trees pretend to still being naked,
crows flap around the tower that begins
a-belling,
and as pedestrians gaze after passing cars,
the mourners follow the bells into the church,
where they splash in thin silence
and scented air,
and stained glass admits the light of the world in,
as if through closed eyelids.

Faded memories of smells and sights,
Hot, dry land and precious laughter
filling humid air like smoke
I breathe and I remember
     the beauty of that other world
Markets of meat and strange food
Neighbours who knew me but I’ve not a clue
Who they are or how they know
      the beauty of this other world

Where next?
Across the world again we go
      another place I cease to know
Unknown air I used to breathe
Heavy feet in the snow
Bakeries and small cafes
Icy air and chilling days
A speck of dust in a city so large
I was lost in the beauty
       the beauty of this other world

The Social MePhone Justice Commandos of Toxic Doom

In the unending quest for social justice
Schoolroom shootings, unisex bakeries
Tornados, a steak, a snake, get off the plane
They’re all the same to the Omigod cult:

“Omigod Omigod Omigod O
Migod Omigod Omigod Omi
God Omigod Omigod Omigod
Omigod Omigod Omigod O!

“Chapsnat bookface tubeyou my relationship
It’s complicated Omigod Omi”

there is nothing but pain and pity.

in the alleyways of my mind, i walk with an umbrella in my right hand.
the rain falls from the sky in teardrops with the force of God's sorrow.
we are nearing supper, the local bakeries and parlors shutting down, lights flickering off at God's finger snap.
it amazes me that i can jump over puddles and yet still drown in my own despair.
i can barely see a glimpse of the moon, but i know it watches me, watches the kids in the playground dance to the thunder.
like me, it keeps quiet, as if there is so much to think about. that's not exactly wrong.

but in the dark alleyways of my mind, there is not much to think about.
there is only a girl fighting the winds and the skies with an umbrella. there is nothing but pain and pity.
God watches me like i'm his child, but i only know two guardians—
pain,
pity.

A legendary sweet tooth, had Lady Felicity Barratt
So swift towards the sugar bowl, so wary of the carrot
She dined on only trifle from a honey coated spoon
But tooth decay accosted her and left her in a swoon

By the time she turned just twenty, her two front teeth were gone
By thirty she was running short and on her final one
When that fell out, she sought a dentist, promptly one arrived
She opened up her grizzly mouth and in the fella dived

He took a cast and took his leave with dentures to be hewn
With satisfaction guaranteed by Friday afternoon
And never did the lady have a reason to suspect
The secret intervention of an evil dental sect

By bribing several bakeries and sweetie shops and stalls
A dossier had been compiled within their sacred halls
For crimes against good dentistry were nothing short of sin
Their retribution must be swift or people might join in

They cast her teeth from coffin nails beneath a devil's moon
With Jack the Ripper's upper set, extracted from his tomb
Then polished with the handkerchief of ******'s former cleaner
Stored in Machiavelli's purse, to make them all the meaner

Upon that self same Friday, at the very cusp of noon
One Doctor Bingo Rogers and his burly hired goon
Came knocking at her premises with dental kit and drills
With a mission to sedate her and to exercise their skills

They knocked her out with ethanol and chloroform and air
And strapped her to a hastily erected dentist's chair
The evil teeth were lodged in place and ******* into her gums
The bill was quite extortionate, for monumental sums

The shamanic orthodontist, with his henchman in his wake
A martyr to the vegetable and nemesis of cake
Was keen to see his handiwork and kept a watchful eye
For curious occurrences, as days went slowly by

By Christmas there was nothing, until on New Year's Eve
Her teeth got uncooperative and forced the girl to leave
They dragged her by her dainty face and led her to the shops
She stood and munched on sugar canes and giant lollipops

They stuffed her face with chocolates, still nestled in their packets
And then a rack of nylon shirts and seven leather jackets
On every size of shoe, she munched; from sixes up to twelves
She nibbled through the party food and gnawed upon the shelves

Then off she sped, into the street, to pursue a passing horse
Dragged along by wicked teeth and supernatural force
But dentures lack in vision, and especially at pace
So when she caught it by the foot she caught it in the face

She skidded to a grizzly halt with arms and legs all twisted
And next to her, a note with all her dental errors listed
So beware the wrath of dentists and obey when they command
And sleep with one eye open and a carrot close to hand

For though our poor Felicity was buried good and hard
Despite floral cupcake with the Dental Cult's regard
And though her body, to this day, lies safely in the ground
The horse escaped that evening and the teeth were never found...

Charitable devotion will invite others to settle on the edge of the periphery of the cartibulum table, surrounded by onlookers who wanted to taste the foods that fell from the sky like manna, on the scamunes that made resonances with notorious reverberations in the points of the polygonal ones that were made parallel, with the bisellium chairs where the exciting appointments of the orb reflected in the sky appear, to ring the bundles or sashes of bread with oils that were raffled in the triklinios that continued to be installed for the arrival of the guests of the Judah. The vessels were adpressed to the shape of the furniture, as a combination of bakeries, moving and disorganizing the geographical nomenclature of these twelve polygon islands of the Dodecanese. With breads that came from Leros or Pserimos, while Rodas and Cos, the largest and most cosmopolitan islands, were the goal of the migrations of Blue Pelicans throughout the year, bringing blue wine on the legs adorned with gold rings and Iaspis, on the grasses sheared by the heels of the myriads of Petrobus and his pelican minions. In this dancing herbage, she could feel by his arms in the dances with Gag Bread, which dances on all the hips of the maidens of the Sousta and the Canephores. From the highest levels to the lowest, everything became a silent conventual, where the acolyte was read to culminate in the potters of a wayward path of Áullos Kósmos where the capital of Vernarth's throne was petrified, having already placed on some images that were reflected from the heaven, a device prepared for rhetoric, to represent it with its Himation above the Megaron dome that was already levitated, spreading through its base and column that gave it antipodean edification, with sources of scope and keywords to welcome everyone, in special attention on the altar that was available to the actants. The lap in his sight was pointed out at the edge of the sea, which was the frequent topic that draws attention to all the sayings, which denote the prostration of language on the actant who organizes the trans visual mandate, on the imaginary bell towers that became thrones of rams with legs of furniture of klismos, which descended from the head of Wonthelimar that was the last to arrive, after sealing the tubular of the wind tunnel that was closed before all who came when the capital of the dome was founded, which configured the first part of the Carolingian device, when myriads of Bayards were observed, in sections where the hemispherical Jacobian light was filled with Gothic archivolts, ending in the gables that Carlo Magno brought in his plans to make them superimposed on the acrotera of the dome, which was already levitated ahead of time before they started building. The majesty of light that decorated the chiaroscuro, oscillated from the heptalobulate of the astragali that Lochnit carried in his hands, farther away than a miniaturistic shadow in its variable crackle and the progress of its size, when he walked precipitously over the vignettes that carved in the reflections. botanists of the Astragalus, pointing out that their forms were gaseous leads of Cherubs thinkers, who perched on the ardacas or flying buttresses, which followed the main Gothic forms of the heptalobulate of the flowers that began to diversify in their growth.

If not for you
I’d grow old without living life
Riding chrome horses with a calm demeanor with my charismatic wife
Passing by bakeries and butcher shops cutting bread and spreading red wine with a knife
Getting off at our destination I would start to get rude
If not for you

If not for you
My wife wouldn’t fall in love
To me she would’ve been the white dove
Of peace with hair of a golden fleece
And I would regularly meet my niece
Like I used to
If not for you

If not for you
I’d be drugged and bugged and gray
I’d probably end all of it by May
But till this year’s day
I still could say
Beside her I lie
Because I need her too
But I hope I someday I don’t have to woo
If not for you

If not for you
The rain wouldn’t leave the morning bright
The light wouldn’t leave the beauteous sight
Of rainbows shining through puddles and the fresh morning dew
If not for you

If not for you
I wouldn’t have to choose her too
But the game has enticed me
To play it through
Everything looks like an enhanced retrospective view
If not for you

They began to sit away from the cruel gods, from those gods who deny their children who were engendered by the cruelest and most chaste reconversion by staying on Olympus as guests, as opposed to sitting at this table of gratuity, of the very precious elixir with the invited Phrygian deities who only laughed and fostered the secrecy of the loaves of eternity, and well-being that was subject to the conscious tolerance of those who wait for a lavish banquet on a table, in these conditions with mood and prolonged perspective with tablecloths of penance and cross in exotic chores. They watered the hanging sheep on the branches of the fruits that hung from the cornucopia, and from the bakeries that made altering the enzymes of some harsh dissolution against Asia, to which Leiak devises benevolent sorcery by giving it to sip water from the drinking sea of ​​Asia Minor. in front of the illuminated Troy. The table made of seven bread baskets, seven mistletoes that escorted the gluten bread that dusted strong winds of Persephone, when falling precipitously yearning to meet Demeter; She picks it up from the gale and with her feet, she pulverizes the soft grains of the Hapalos Artos, with the goat's milk and olives that she would anoint on the very nails of her daughter Persephone, by constituting clean them with white sheets of the spongy mass. It used to be called Cappadocian yeast until it reached the shores of the noble bread that were installed on the table like Lakhma bread, as a metaphysics of the Eucharist that was carried out on the white tablecloth, which shrunk every time they took it as a domestic bread rolled around the angry parts of the Mataki tablecloth, for healings that continue the protective actions of those who enjoy a good alliance of water, and bread on the table with bad thoughts, which enrage the battered thick curtains of the abundance of the prosperity of evil. The Iaspis or Jaspes, resembled supra-scalded of natural belonging and of glittering authenticity, in the rarity that made no more than to make jesters of a Southeast Asia and not of Asia Minor. The greenish flashes spoke of life in full force to fit followed by a wisp of flash deposited by Zefian, coming and gliding in the sapphire, holding on to veins of the Alikantus sapphire eyes that were adapted to sip on the dense spring that floated by. the atmosphere of the Mataki, and then pour it into the chalices, absorbed by Leiak's sorcery, speaking of higher lapses than any known numeral, but the seventieth preceding the current one. This martyrdom of the Mataki made Leiak's esophagus segregate with the desire of a sommelier, who sips the distilled water from the glen over the cups that lessened the cruelty, badly criminal of those who do not savor food for another dinner, congratulations, if there was the failure of a Caucasus, where elixirs of mistelated and sanctified muscat wine are brought out from under the table of St. John. Everything was of ascending ambition for any liver that coveted this table of Mataki, for whom he cordoned off the mountains and made those of the valleys embrace one another, for the uniqueness of the Dodecanese islands. The totality of those who let go of their shyness, and did not allow them to refer to drinking or eating, deposed by putting a sacred ear to Zefian when he arrived on Patmos as a physical, and not spiritual, tasting, becoming effective in who toast with muscat for all the star maidens that followed him. above, violating the seals that held them, prisoner, then just then the eye of the Iaspis was made of the carats to recalculate, submitting them to the guard to signify and meet at this time between seven polyelia, and seven diskopótira, immediately to the bag of the fasmatémporos or Breadbasket Enchanted to taste.