Voracity is the centipede,
hunting in a-downhill-bleed,
pull what you think is a string,
to pitch your tent,
feel the centi clench,
and incision of dopamine,
your esophagus that screams,
could have had the segments and seams,
harking back to when the earth was steam,
when night jungle shines upon it,
with a red lens,
as it devours a tarantula,
adding a segment to its length,
sense the kinship,
sense the progenitor strength,
turn your red light on,
see the red esophagus of black chiton,
run for the zenith,
before the apex makes you bleedeth,
let your bayonet it bite on,
drop in alchohol,
and as a dragon,
it will soar and fight on,

beware the apex,
only the mountain,
set your sights on,
beware the early esophagus,
of red-neon, black chiton.

i.

In the archaic agora
Stayed apothecaries, money changers, and tradesmen;
Governor's with grape stained sin's
Himation throw over's, as for women a chiton, white garb glint.

ii.

Betwixt the sea human being multitude
Were the many different Greek's, and the Grecian Jew's;
This locale was vibrant, a theatre nearby where the soldier's couldst escape from the war, whilst fighting made market new's.

iii.

A poet I was, listening to homer, and the philosopher Plato
Whilst Aristotle read marvelous novel's, whilst Aristophanes gaveth me a laugh; and Hippocrates showed me doctor's notes for the generation's to cometh and pass, Sophocles to giveth fun task.

iv.

Off in the distance was a lass not from around mine Greek land
Her skin a little darker, her eye's **** wick's, ablazed, her sheath Asiatic tan; she hadst no brand, she was not formed by any human creator, her tropical hair, swayed to the Mediterranean.

v.

She was struggling, fighting for her life from the cyclops Polyphemus, I ran quickly to her rescue, pulling out mine xiphos;
She passed out from the trauma, her pupils rolled back timeful
As I woketh her with mine poetic Lip's, giving her life, greek kiss.





©Brandon nagley
©Earl jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry

Look where she flies, fleet-footed Syrinx,
her chiton drenched, her sole bruised.
See the stalks that kiss her calves,
bend to embrace, then spring back:
green as the nymph, slender as she,
fragile flutes and ankle-bones.
She thinks to hide her in a reed;

but she has always been a reed,
always shown the promise of instruments.
She has been brittle; she has dreamed
of the god's hand to splinter her,
and craft of tatters, beauty and music;
awaits the lover of earthen nails
to put his mouth on her, his life's breath in her,
and make her broken body sing.

Basic Attention Token
we all gotta cache, like a cistern.

Tis tension implanted deep in lower chakras
more, more, teasing, tugging, twisting
crying ever, more, more,
…
it is a flaw,
go, and stay connected, I understand
-- wait
-- the txt is for the single participant act
no mention is made, save the very act, guest
I guess, we guessed,
the man got away,
but, nobody asks,
like I assume they assume they know
- taken, in the very act -
full, full, fill the law to the jot
whittle me a key,
pick this lock, unravel the complexity.
- casting lots for the garment
- knitted from one thread,
New Testament Greek between the himatia 
(literally “over-garments”)
and the seamless robe,
which is chiton,
(literally "tunic" or "coat").

https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1273