They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.

O God, I am not like you
In your vacuous black,
Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.
Eternity bores me,
I never wanted it.

What I love is
The piston in motion ----
My soul dies before it.
And the hooves of the horses,
There merciless churn.

And you, great Stasis ----
What is so great in that!
Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door?
It is a Christus,
The awful

God-bit in him
Dying to fly and be done with it?
The blood berries are themselves, they are very still.

The hooves will not have it,
In blue distance the pistons hiss.

Alter Christus, Alter Vir*

For Reverend Angelo J. Liteky

He died three times, for other men
Who lived because he died – once in Indochina
Once in his vocation, and one last time
Forgotten in a poor hospital bed

Soul-wounded in the false, incessant wars
Humanity inflicts upon itself
Fallenness falling again, ever fallen
And the ever-falling fell upon him

Though he lifted his love - always for others -
He died again – and who will live for him?

No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,
And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great
At times pass athrough us,
And we are melted into them, and are not
Save reflexions of their souls.
Thus am I Dante for a space and am
One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and thief,
Or am such holy ones I may not write
Lest blasphemy be writ against my name;
This for an instant and the flame is gone.

’Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere
Translucent, molten gold, that is the “I”
And into this some form projects itself:
Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine;
And as the clear space is not if a form’s
Imposed thereon,
So cease we from all being for the time,
And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on.

Usque incorruptibiles aeternum vivet in aeternum
                                         (356-323 B.C.)

The Regressive Legend tells that this good piece of muscular meat and brain too, was born to write his entire story dying with the blood of Etruscan Steeds, each one had golden piercings on the internal hanging of their six paranasal sinuses, to seal life by this blood-tightness. Franciscan timeless swordsman, so that with his last four molars it would give way to amalgamated crystalline light and overflowing from the gums of the period that soaked blood in the equestrian fields. With which from the ventral turbinate he would be in the first row giving pendency to the Troops of the Great Darius, from where his Alikanto Horse, dressed in degrading dust, changed his Etruria marble saddles with his paranasal attributions, and his brain roots of the hypothalamus pillar who gave them super alchemical excitements and compulsions, super powerful attack to arrive at Tel Gomel 7 days before, supported by the elixir of the Fires of the reinforced steel legs of his Alikanto, with whose entity they came out in droves looking like when they ran at great speeds pretending to be more than a thousand equine Etruscans escaping from the Culture of the Vulture war in a rectilinear scourge of speed in an inordinate trajectory by the Gaugamela tapestries.

Vernath; in one of their lives he was aware of broker comments. Along the long avenues there were countless soldiers who had taken possession of their regression! Many spoke loudly through the pavilions of their stateless conscience. After putting their good feeling of great good sufficiency, they called to him to loud voice which with little will he could hear. Then he heard himself say saying ...; They talked about me? Sooner or later I will be with my therapist, she says that before going to her office she was already dictating to approach her great Christus Martial test in Gaugamela. From the six strings of his devotional he came, taken with both hands with great force, to bend from the eyelids of his intruding Sibyl, to travel through the minimum must of the Solstice to reach the point of apogee closest to his epic, which I rescued with Eternal Life an obese arm from wars won by the peaceful Death, in the Way of oblique perpetrated committed soldiers that from Mosul swept him swirling with high bravery mounted in his Alikanto, before arriving at the low meadow forest of the Lid.

If it was a boy ... it was a Man. If he was a Man ... he was an offender of the fortress. If he was leisurely unfolded he always carried his sword, he never left it. Even his reconciling dreamed would be damaged if he deported him from his daily Christian offices. Vernath, is a living survivor precedent to the resurrected Alexander the Great, after 323 BC .. But when they breathed the same glorious air, both looking at each other, brandished cutting the sharp rudeness that divided them with the 6 Golden swords, from 6 angles of strategic fords to die. several times to challenge the pain that surpasses all life the golden strings with blood "Hexachordia Caelestialis Mortuorum", From the musical scale of agony of the sheep plains that are prey to the melodies of the scythes strengthened by the fear of the trembling of the charismatic migrant .

Vernarth was raised as befits a Greek prince, with heroic tales from Joshua de Piedra's epic poetry. He was part of a culture that demanded that great men despise personal danger and take risks to gain experience. His genealogical ancestors came from Sudpichi, near the Talamitense / Chile reign.
He also received teachings from Kalavrita's Etrestles himself in philosophy and science (Kometerium Messolonghi / Editorial Palibrio - Bloomington USA). Since childhood he was a charming guest for the guests of the court. Etrestles was named their teacher, largely to control recklessness and aggressiveness by at least tempering them with more philosophical and civilized values, far from all insomniac excess.
In this he did not achieve complete success, because his obstinacy led him to run around the world barefoot and without clothes. Vernath, far from obeying his parents. He would go out at night and chase the Moon pregnant with pale Solar light on foot to attack it and tame its silver enclosure on its Etruscan steeds, exuding the naused locked in its loopholes.

He learned a great deal from his tutor and became a highly scholarly man watching for Messolonghi and a keeper of the confines of the Kalavrita macro heavens. But he remained essentially the brave boy who spat too blasphemous atomic alcohol on the Cyclops, who wanted to be Hercules surrounded by himself without parallel. Alexander's inspiration was Etrestles; Homer's accounts of his exploits inspired Vernath in his general attitude of putting his books beyond his memoirs and bibliographic insights.

It is likely that he was seen as a brand new version of the classic Greek heroes with divine blood in SudPichi ..., good piece of muscular meat and brain. To a large extent, this was true more than her own Sibyl lying in her lived regression in the decadent heights of Gaugamela's flushed proximity.

Vernath was an extremely aggressive commander who considered any type of defensive preparation as a sign of weakness, so he dared to speak out in opposition to Saint Augustine; The personality of Saint Augustine of Hippo was iron and it took very hard anvils to forge it, attributing to her apathy not to proceed with the courage of the great Maker, for her encyclopedic fervor and scientific rigor. Perhaps in cowardice, for not facing the mysteries of the word of the present Gods. He was therefore encouraged, rather than dismayed, when the Persian army rallied behind the Gránico river, forcing him to stun across it in front of his predicted opposition, like a sovereign crusader. It is the cross of the plain that in oblique route, can rescind the old word task of the ritual punishment of the sacrilegious Pharisee death that lacks.
Vernath with more than 180,000 faithful followers, declared that the ******* did not have confidence in the victory of the greatest affront, and they counted on the pronounced banks of the river to restrain the intensity of their attack enough so that the Persian cavalry defeated him by accumulating centimeters, to gain deadly meters. He launched his cavalry across the river at the point where the enemy seemed strongest brooding, degraded soldier, and after a fierce skirmish he succeeded in driving the Persian cavalry absent from twilight elixir value alongside the extermination of the voiceless I neither sing nor sing.
The second Persian line expired, the Greek mercenaries, held firm, but was slaughtered in less than five variations of the Sun as a declaring manifesto. Depleted of jubilant water resources, the Granicus established the moral dominance of Vernath's army over his enemies and forced Darius to adopt an even more attitude. Local populations Halicamaso, a nearby port moved their lines more than 5 kilometers in their retreat retreated, before the victorious siege since he was awarded by the natural immensities of the forests of Sudpichi, together with his beloved father Bernardolipo, after consonating suspicious corners from the Osho Tarot, when he drew his sword and upright lunge on the first card, on the instep of the undefeated and naive ignorant warrior, versed strenuous mercenary.

By John Reed

To Lincoln Steffens


SOMEWHERE I read a strange, old, rusty tale
Smelling of war; most curiously named
The Mad Recreant Knight of the West.
Once, you have read, the round world brimmed with hate,
Stirred and revolted, flashed unceasingly         
Facets of cruel splendor. And the strong
Harried the weak …
                    Long past, long past, praise God,
In these fair, peaceful, happy days.

                            The Tale:         
      Eastward the Huns break border,
        Surf on a rotten ****;
      They have murdered the Eastern Warder
        (His head on a pike).
      “Arm thee, arm thee, my father!         
        Swift rides the Goddes-bane,
      And the high nobles gather
        On the plain!”

      “O blind world-wrath!” cried Sangar,
        “Greatly I killed in youth;         
      I dreamed men had done with anger
        Through Goddes truth!”
      Smiled the boy then in faint scorn,
        Hard with the battle-thrill;
      “Arm thee, loud calls the war-horn         
        And shrill!”

      He has bowed to the voice stentorian,
        Sick with thought of the grave—
      He has called for his battered motion
        And his scarred glaive.         
      On the boy’s helm a glove
        Of the Duke’s daughter—
      In his eyes splendor of love
        And slaughter.

      Hideous the *** advances         
        Like a sea-tide on sand;
      Unyielding, the haughty lances
        Make dauntless stand.
      And ever amid the clangor,
        Butchering *** and ***,         
      With sorrowful face rides Sangar
        And his son….

      Broken is the wild invader
        (Sullied, the whole world’s fountains);
      They have penned the murderous raider         
        With his back to the mountains.
      Yet though what had been mead
        Is now a ****** lake,
      Still drink swords where men bleed,
        Nor slake.         

      Now leaps one into the press—
        The hell ’twixt front and front—
      Sangar, ****** and torn of dress
        (He has borne the brunt).
      “Hold!” cries, “Peace! God’s peace!         
        Heed ye what Christus says—”
      And the wild battle gave surcease
        In amaze.

      “When will ye cast out hate?
        Brothers—my mad, mad brothers—         
      Mercy, ere it be too late,
        These are sons of your mothers.
      For sake of Him who died on Tree,
        Who of all creatures, loved the least—”
      “Blasphemer! God of Battles, He!”         
        Cried a priest.

      “Peace!” and with his two hands
        Has broken in twain his glaive.
      Weaponless, smiling he stands—
        (Coward or brave?)         
      “Traitor!” howls one rank, “Think ye
        The *** be our brother?”
      And “Fear we to die, craven, think ye?”
        The other.

      Then sprang his son to his side,         
        His lips with slaver were wet,
      For he had felt how men died
        And was lustful yet;
      (On his bent helm a glove
        Of the Duke’s daughter,         
      In his eyes splendor of love
        And slaughter)—

      Shouting, “Father no more of mine!
        Shameful old man—abhorr’d,
      First traitor of all our line!”         
        Up the two-handed sword.
      He smote—fell Sangar—and then
        Screaming, red, the boy ran
      Straight at the foe, and again
        Hell began….         

Oh, there was joy in Heaven when Sangar came.
Sweet Mary wept, and bathed and bound his wounds,
And God the Father healed him of despair,
And Jesus gripped his hand, and laughed and laughed….

I find quiet consolation listening to near-dead, half-deaf Tom Jones
who dreams of Earth minus lesbians grooming dads as mom clones
Sharing my lunch with an out-of-work ****** makes me feel larger,
just like after my big ****'s been slammed in the jamb of a car door
The snow Christened Christ, freezing hot after-birth iced. His Mum
was a ****** who had babies, while Daddy bit a dog that had rabies.
Hey you *******, I am ***-high in the Jakarta Turbine project
so I got no time for them or Lloyd Bridges & his hemorrhoid ridges
as my tick-bit chihuahua'd sooner *** on what is left of Bruno Leon

♋ There's peace in a strait jacket. There's peace
among prisoners who are drugged & shackled.

An Abraham, who, looking far
Above upon a distant star
Remembers his promised reward
And knows his sighs are not ignored

An Israel, with head held high
Limping upon a wounded thigh
Remembers through both thick and thin
The wrestling match God let him win

A Prophet, burning with the word
Which on Emmaus road he heard
Remembers standing, listening, still
Aware of an Absolute will

An Alter Christus, anointed
Faithful to his task appointed
Remembers with generous heart
The One who loved him from the start

And children of this Father dear
Whether they are yet far or near
Remember him, and grateful, pray:
Ad Multos Annos, every day

I inhale the stench of birds being cared for in the privacy of a closet
where fruits ripen after paying a homosexual closet security deposit

Spílaiaus, noticing that Vernarth felt unprotected on the iridescent Nimbus, greeted Zefian; he was in the Phlegrean Fields reliving the Sibylline Treatises of the Pytia Cumea, when the last death rattle of the Universe began to beat with force Zefian sent from his Thracian Gold Quiver right next to where the Sibylline Treatises could materialize again by withdrawing the Arrow of the Vóreios where it began to protrude from the Doric stylobats of the Megaron, everything was comparable to the Parnassus from which Leto; Apollo's mother would grant them Vernarth's Megaronic Songs, making up for her withdrawal since he was saved from the fire in 548 BC.  from the Acropolis, being able to assent to the presence of Triads Women who moaned at him due to his deserted unbalanced voice without being able to receive his exclamations. Zefian then before the lightness of his cosmic phalanges withdrew the Fourth Arrow from the Phlegrean Fields; before it from the volcanic caldera, he released the nine books recovered in total from the six cremated, to then be pierced by Zefian's Arrow to finally project them towards the contiguities of Prophyits Ilias where their spirits appeared here with such reflections of Miletus conversing with each other that the beauty of Coronis was not enough tenor of Paralesias of the Firmament of Apollo, so the Heavens of Patmos had to be opened with the nine sybilline books along with Vernarth's Hellenic Trilogy to establish the Duoverse as paralesias of the world that would restart from the Ádyton to save the Inheritance and his astrophysicist strangulation.
Both vicissitudes of the Fourth Arrow were heading at incalculable speeds to collide and merge with the Arrow that pierced Apollo's Lynothorax to the detriment of Coronis, thus abandoning transcripts of the oracles that crossed paths in the Seventh Hour of Paralysis to later touch with holistic chrysanthemums with their pointed ivory ornaments that hung from the Universe wrapped in an omphalos, which became a Kosmous of wands encrusted with igneous flames to burn to a great degree among the stylobates that the upper canopy prevented from being incinerated from the rest, protecting the parapets from the Megaron that depended on the nearby Cloud of the Iridescent Nimbus where Vernarth resided in the armband patterns of the monarch Croesus.

Spílaiaus replies to Vernarth: “From this promontory, I go to your parents, I tell you that I see signs of great parapets where the center of the Kosmous rises; “The Ádyton, is closely linked to the fusion of the Quarta Saeta, and Septenario del Ibic or Virola to the depths of the Katabainen; whose Katabasis grows through places of impious land from a Megaron that is nothing more than traces of Lycurgus in limber blood that the tabernacle could not contain, nor could it dispossess for a chalice the firmness of an instigated Christus that could now flow and be reborn by submitting to Cyrus, and other satraps of the past, referring to the fact that Vernarth's asceticism depended on the minimum luminance that could come out of Tartar. Vernarth, distinguished himself more calmly when he perceived that Eurydice filled him with greater agreement with the one who is delimited from an underground room, than from a sub-empyrean who began to separate him from the parapets of the Megaron with the shape of a Howling Kosmous burnishing from the same district Strategoi.

In this way, the Adyton was made up of a temple with Seven Steps until the arrival of the fusion of Zefian's Arrow to collide with that of Apollo, then both being the curtain of the interface of the Duoverse that became oracular with the presence of Jerome de Estridón, and Spílaiaus taking them to the Forests of Parnassus and Kanthillana with the Pythonesses in the spurious Oracular of the nuptials. The Sybilla Herofila is present with her veil with the darkness of Castalia, with ceremonious gestures also in front of her the Sybilla Cumea for the brothers of Delphi and Adyton who reopen it with the power of their God, who was accumulating access to an infinite where nothing isolates it, not even from the sip of a sea that does not grant the gift of quenched thirst, then the Psiloi custodians as advisers of their "V" of the pentagram would take charge of the Oracle's minions to unite the center of the Kosmous with the Universe-Duoverse where he rested on the niche of Hestia.

Apollo emerges between some proxenos that accompanied him before noticing the impact of the Arrowheads, and compasses between proxenos that would admit the New Duoverse of the Oracle of Adyton, for a new universe that was gestating from a polymer towards a multidimensional height that rotated to exhibit only the edge that would admit the mass of Saetas to create rings of vibration, and frequency of Apollo in front of Vernarth looking from the magnanimous lookouts of all Greece. This is where the shepherd Coretas juxtaposed himself with his flock to swarm in the thin strips of landslides that would be left by the atomic detonations of both colliding Arrows, whose cracks would drop obtuse crude oil down mysterious empty cliffs in the face of a Greece that would be born before Anthropotite or humanity, only eclipsing Vernarth in the company of the atomic hatching in the middle of the sieve of the same faces of his entourage that will make him return every day of his transition, like fiery Ashin of the Roman Vestal in assiduity of Naples.
Apollo indicates to Vernarth: “If you stay alone in the drift of Astro Cirrus, you stay with the shadow of Coronis, or you will tell me that it dissipates from the discharges of Tarquino Prisco, you must treasure your Trilogy as a pendulum on the towpath of the Dodona or from the hiding places of the fetish between leaves of the inventory that unknown is not by an auspice that will open from the greatest Paradise ”

In advance of the hallmarks of the Itheoi Duoverse; with the Pre-Kelesete or Possession, they decide to contribute the Anticipatory that will open the doors of the Soul that they have to enter the Universe of San Juan Apóstol, from then on a whopping bump are unleashed with the hatching of Saetas between Zefian and Apollo. The Cabal skirmish was accomplished in the dark! The macro transport of spiritual masses begin to coexist transporting the end of the Himation Ceremonial, later until an impartial right here appeared from Camphor, it was his signature Macrowave protoform of the Himation itself; called Camphor-Xórki (syllabus). The Pre-Kalesete began its walk through the Nothing when Vernarth tried to look down on the limpid spheres of Patmos seeing the holistic whole involved in a Greece that was hailed from the Hatching Arrows coming from the last breath near the Camphor-Xórki of San Juan Apóstol where the Xorkí began to syllable “O θάνατός σου είναι τώρα Ζωή – Your Death is now Life”, from the Quantum atomic that began spelling out by Vernarth's Stóma; or beginning of his astonishing mouth that was regurgitating the oscillating lapses between the Keselete and Xorkí.

With expeditious speed came the Arrows of the Phlegrean Fields, forking one by one until the Fourth Sagittal that was isolated in the evolution of myriads of stars that were made up of the proximity of the Nimbus where Vernarth provided himself in decades of nebula Celestines that shone to tear pimps fibers that still aspired to hijack the remains of the Millitum Vernarth, in the form of clusters of radio galaxies that moved towards the reddish, expanding from the Campos Phlegraios in Naples itself; like geological hydrothermal fissures that clustered behind a sudden crimson blue of the great Universal that split receiving the Saeta Prima from said field of fire. The gravitational completion of the curve generated the Saeta Prima that was made conventional with assistant telescopes, before exultant excesses of wanting to see it as a Quasar that descended from Andromeda together with the Auriga, in such a radio galaxy journey to melt the bars of the Universe to be distended by Vernarth's bombastic Stóma that expressed itself more than his dwarfed senses by the Galaxy that was propelled by the waning of the radiance of the Quasars.

The Primal Saeta is abducted in the intermediate vortex of the Quasars, it remains in the orbit of the Nimbus where Vernarth remained in photometric that allowed him to reflect it in its silhouette with the closest astral referent of Orion. The Secunda Saeta came out of the transversal valleys, this came with the agreement of the Pre-Keselete of Saint John the Apostle bathed in ultra-luminous infrared Ouranos, making vibrating strings of the frequency of the Universe in an ultra-luminous dream emanating from molecular gas, adapting to the new fusion of Zefian's Prima and Secunda Saeta with the determination to split the monoxide at the base of the Nimbus from the acroteria that still accompanied it with the universal entity of the Empyrean as hydrogen that formulated the Saetas clash in homologation of the same aerodynamics prop of the Xiphos, from solid metal to liquid in pearly spirals from the magnitude collapse of the Tercia Saeta, this would bring the same from the Horkun hydrothermal or Horcondising Mountain with thousandths of a thousand light years that would unify on their Solid and Liquid pedestals as the Fifth Essence of the Horkun, the Third Bolt arrived between five Kyrios who followed her through the atrium that was beyond the Hydor that incarnated in collusion with her deformation to soon reform, beginning to go towards the manifest of shared energy towards magnitudes divided by the coefficient 0.7 Micron of atomic energy levitating from the quasar equivalent that stretched from the luminous zenithal meridian in front of the mast of the Four Leaf Clover, which pretended to be a Cherub still emanating from nothing, towards the fractal splendor of the Patmos region ten times greater than the hydrothermal that reconfigured Greece at a distance of ten molecular cycles minus a molecular trace of the carbonate crystal. The diameters of the absolute observable were coming out to the delight of a Hellenic Ego observable in the wide Cosmos rendered in anti-gravity of the Fourth Arrow; being competent to see how he appropriated a snowy-blue sky that softened with the obstructed eyes of Saint John the Apostle, granting more than ninety percent of the explosiveness of the Quarta Saeta above the infrared that dominated the collisions, leaving them inactive for only seven seconds before concluding the snowy waves with the dense and glacial gas helically topped by few waves of any gas that sprout from each galaxy that never ended as an isolated Nimbus as Kant preceded, in a time that becomes more extensive than our own light that lives in its bright end. The dislocated morphology of the Fourth Saeta would ignite the border of the Pre-Keselete from the Phlegrean Fields, Kimolos, the Horkun, and Patmos in an unleashed spiral since the matter was uncontrolled from other unknown matter between myriads of collisions caused by Zefian to the limit that cuts his inspiration, only falling asleep all the previously mentioned Duoverse with Vernath's Megaronic Odes in Epilogue of Xorkí, from here towards the metallic lithic tip of the Xiphos with its spelled enchantment.

Megaronic Odes

"You see from the Enchantment in which all matter becomes Free, You see how each one of them after being Four will now be one that speaks of their very existence that you do everything... you realize that the noise of the Duoverse is born from the Xorkí, where everything dark turns grey... and black is Xorkí.

“Everything that has four digits moves with your four wings, everything that you call Quarta Saeta is a Xorkí syllable…”
Camphor is the heat of friction of the contracted memory, it is here that all pain that is in this field of tragedy urges it, and leaves you distrustful of sap that is another that you lead to the Pre-Keselete as an environment of infernal turns that seem to be good of a good that is born to crash fatally. I want to tell you with these Megaronic Odes that I write, which do not belong to me, they are concise clashes of two atomic ignition fields of the Keselete and Xorkí of San Juan Apóstol that make me not mortified, that you will destine me to the gross speed of the blinking of my Hellenes eyes quicker than those of enchanted thought.

“I need to tell you that between La Prima and Quarta Saeta, my charms between frictions will rest on herbs from Corinto and Sudpichi, I will join the choir that will begin to rise for me, it will do so for you who have just begun to know me, soon we will see you, my dear Adelfos"

"As for the Primal and Quarta Saeta, it is the fanfare of a being that would visit every night, it would invite you to live your own experience that was seen to shine for the last time while being handcuffed to an agro bush, which would sustain itself against an enchantment of the Xorkí in a revived future of the brand new Vernarth with his prodded and resonant Xiphos”

Vernarth utters: “Eurydice... here I am, a closed pilgrimage looms towards the dim light with the nocturnal phrase of him endowing me through the conclusive!! Father... Mother, Myloi of the Sad Wind, here I am with your Primordial Arrow endorsing Pillows, beloved Adelfós, the Rabih San Juan? Almighty God bless you from this Quilt holding our spirited hope of seeing you again! "

Between The Prima and Quarta Saeta, enormous hydrothermal plasmas of the drained Don would be cited, which would conglomerate between the interdimensional of the four Saetas, to later send them from the "Heroon Hurkun Funeral Home of Kanthillana", from there to Lefkandi for the transition of his cremated body that began to revive from there ipso facto, later from the Phlegrean Fields with the Fourth Arrow that Zefian would finally bring with the III Trilogy of Vernarth Hellenic being transferred from the iron prop, supremely seconded by settling in the Prophytis Ilias to revive in autonomous descent of the body of a “Hero in his Heroon who will be reborn from his immolated body”. Incontinently, the arrows will be spaced through the interdimensional strapping of all of Greece to revive its awakening just as it happened with Erestles in Messolonghi; but this time of Orion's Wagon breaking with its coined bar eternity in its Hurkun chamber. In this way, Vernarth is distracted by looking at him at three hundred and sixty degrees looking at the Prima, and from this Secunda Saeta seeing how he rose and accelerated his trajectory adjacent to the Tercia and Quarta that would take him towards a failed break over Thyatira; with the Son of Yahweh, who has eyes like a flame of fire or Aish, and feet similar to going burnishing the bronze chaff towards Patmos to revive immediately with the subrogation of his body in the company of the almighty Mashiaj, Saint John the Apostle and the granted Right of the Hexagonal Birth, with the posterity of prosapies remaining everlasting to resurrect him from the neophyte and Hellenic Hortus Heliacus.

Onto my stump I rub expensive, aloe vera stump cream
before and after swimming in an icy, mountain stream
'cause I don't want to be on the stumpy, jungle-rot team

Onto my swollen leg stump I rub expensive, aloe vera stump cream
before & after swimmin' in a frigid, North Dakota mountain stream
'cause I don't wanna be on a North Dakotan stumpy, jungle-rot team
Please hospice nurse mercy-killers, don't mercy-**** me by flogging
me with my prosthetical leg, as I am happier to be alive than I seem under a satanic mix Fleetwood & Jagger, there'll be nada to redeem
for oath keepers' fugly ******* who're under sacred oath not to ream
under skies of liberation whereat Jersey sheenies shimmer & gleam
I fear the mumbling, perverted pig, the fake obstetrician Bill Cosby
'cause he'll drug me with Quāāludes just before he rapes & robs me
Being the last to die as is a plan that loving romantics have 'tis true,
especially at the death-bed of a rich uncle who has got bronchial flu
Let's sway gaily under rotting palms while praising Lordly Christus
with hymns & psalms as cultishly-religious claptrap exalts & calms

Surrendering to a folly worse than evisceration, apologetic Germans pay for premisal crimes of ancestral bureaucrats...o tal vez: Germans embrace criminal Arabs who search for ermine women to disgrace. Given to folly worse than evisceration, apologetic Germans pay for conjectural crimes that haunt long-dead politicians. Homogenization & assimilation = miscegenation which destroys diversity because: spooning leads to swooning as forking leads to corking while: each Christus Mass we celebrate the sacrifices of Jesús (God's son) with fir trees in glitter; roasted fowl denuded of innards & stuffed with stale bread, chestnuts, celery & shell fish. Our children are ingratiated with baubles by the ancestors of the ancestresses who were mistresses of fathers who afforded them wifely status. These celebratory 12 days grant living men opportunities to exhume & inhume harlots; to replenish larder stock; to avenge treachery. Earthen waters slake thirst while the 3,000-mile-wide sun remands darkling. Who is a Jew? Jews populate each of the 4 anthropological designations (races). Self-proclaimed/self-anointed Jews know little of the Tora, the Talmud, & the crickets & the locusts that are Kosher under the Kashrut.

Look at me! Bejesus! Flattened-plane-Earth's-marginally-Catholical mommy Mary: madre de Holy Princely Rex Christus Jesus, please
see: My troubled Kent babified doll Marie just deliberately infected
me with the ravenously-bacterial, cutaneous diphtheria that she got
in an ***** den hovel in filthy, broken-down Constantine, Algeria.**
Marushka Anya the pull along the thighs brings the space into view
of the maternal honeycomb where-from, your Mother, emerged you
in '98, upon no-man's Patagonian land that skirts Chile & Argentina
where no Java maids milk foal ******* at coal tipples in Micronesia

chopping two heads of garlic for:
however long that might have lasted -
each tooth cut into a fine matrix
of miniature cubes -
cut to the point where a fattiness
oozes from each garlic tooth:
sticky saliva-esque ('l) and it's not...
the kind that comes bursting
with onions spitting venom -
how bewildered to be answering
the door when a delivery man
has just dropped a package
and you've also... just been cutting
onions...
   a tear that has to transcend
both grief, happiness and pangs of
beauty -
the garlic?
     the feel of fingers after having
fingered and slobbered and
come glutton on the equivalent
of **** and a devil's dozen
of oysters -
                a recipe for pickled
cucumbers: that they were cucumbers
that would become gherkins...
yes... thinly sliced 4kg of cucumbers
to 1kg of sugar... this and that:
some curry powder...
left in 2tbsp of salt to gush with brine...
and then... the pasteurißation
process - fudge packed into jars...
the lids not fully twisted on...
some breathing room -
"baked" in an oven at 120 degrees
for less than an hour...
taken out... the lids firmly ******* on...
then the jars flipped upside down
to stand...
for safe-keeping...
to boil the impurities away...
boil giddy broth and all that scratching
youth of cucumber away
for a smoothness accustomed
to marble...
funny that... the onion - how it is
the only vegetable to have some variation
of a venom and is still
the only metaphor of a snake -
the tears i shed over these Baßil plucks...
   in english: ß is an interchange:
once a sharpened S...
i know of sharpening eSSeS...
cute acute is the final form:
           ślizg (off ślizgać: to slide -
i.e. one has the slang attache -
a bit like: having the groove)...
you can almost hear it: at the end of
each hush: it's never a hush:
it's a huś of a librarian...
        a howl of it might i add...      
- crude caron is the: not yet blunt...
meat-eater.... teeth indentations... grooves...
          shackles...
the crown: šaro-
             followed by two halves
of a crown -ść               i.e. greyness -
which is still not borrowing from
the ingenuity of the russians:
szczera (too many consonants my ***...
too many vowels you roman dogs!)
   SH-CH -
                       Š + Č = Ш + Ч = Щ
        we could have the "ingenuity" process
of this evolution of... an "apostrophe"
from the depths...
   but... catherine the great was
a german lass... and even though: Ц
sits proud and could have been...
                    it wasn't... since...

Ц ≠ CH(eap)
         or CZ(art)
           or ČaXa...
      it could have: what was it...
a mirror inquisition of mu to begin with?
give me 100 years and a book burning
and i could "correct" this burden...
so it ******* fits...
i'd even call in the mongols to implement
this change...

the germans already say: цentrum
and write zentrum - herr tseit!
                                 herr schtick-a-lot: цar...
щerość  - truthfulness...
                                         / ščerość:
two coronas halved -
or... sharpened...
                     and to think... this little adventure
has me dancing above a latin script!
and... deviating from some ur-greek...

we could do this minor change:
"pan-slavic" borrowings from
the 19the century in the balkans
under the ottomans -
           this hypered breathing tool
to extract the yet Siberia - Hades bride
a near pristine ****** -
in this cosmopolitan confused multi-
of an english...
i am here to express and drag back
into the "darkness" of the east
memento...

  that the greek had names for
some of their letters: omicron, omega,
alpha, beta, gamma...
but that the latins had:
vowel-and-consonant: syllables
instead of proper names...
delta - a sensation for a prefix letter...
and a suffix name scoop...

cut my ***** off and feed me
operatic candy...
when you open a bag of
    chimichurri chimichurri:
chim chim churri...
no... when you open a bag
of been-sprouts after
the best-before-date...
    you know the perfume if you have
ever... fermented grapes:
it's that in-between scent
of fermentation -
it's quiet off-putting...
but it's passable...
              but english is both
the currency of the present...
the language of empire
the lingua franca: although:
the crescent moon in the shackles
of the sheikhs:
who moved these youths into
europe if not the project harem...
and fatso old cat laze'ohs of
the woman's drudge:
a heaving tide of custard flesh...
boiling with lazy bop-bop of
bubbles...
                    we can discuss it in
english: never mind the natives...
we came, we saw...
some of us didn't bothered feeling
at home...
although: we once hoped to be...
never... *******... mind!

i'm here for two "letters"... well...
sounds... in the russian text...
great orthographer that i am:
the english can have their metaphysical
this certain debate that...
that uncertain debate this...
it's not like the english will ever
employ diacritical markers...
a recurrent theme: a stressor on my mind...
it will never be allowed
a pop fission - it will not claim
an epidemic status -
mind you:
the priests the psychiatrists and the
prostitutes... minor of the 3:
the four horseman... the "poet":
the poo-etcetera...
  try try, try bring fail...
"ignore, ignore": "happiness"
will find its trail...

                 but once! in a time of...
poesy and cerebral palsy!
sound: ping pongs of echoes pf
dying elephants or whales...
            the stomach of the disgruntled
indigestion that's the best assumed
presence of: sea...
            
it's become certain:
in youth to write while listening to music...
tone deaf i: too could reach
a tornado of words... that...
let's be frank: i never recite what i write...
i write best from what's
yet to be seen... i uncover what's hidden...
i don't pretend to measure sounds...
if my voice had the same sensation
to encompass blowing into a saxophone...
no... a horn...
this monotone gravity of breve -
this great aeon bespoke sloth of
an otherwise riddling tongue turned
into an ancient worming from:
from a time when man did not pass
onto his futures -
a memory of some ancient - fabled oned -
a once that turned out to be:
full of replicas! i.e. archetypical
wounds... that forever bleed...

best this written in a silence that
wakes up with an imitation wind...
two letters... russian... beside ur-greek
to me... exported to as far east
as Kamchatka.... which is practically
north of Tokyo -

it's a contested scenario... this...
Цц vs. Чч -
if it was handwritten for the envisioning
of... the:        Ш + Ц = Щ
i'm sold... aren't you sold?
  ah... envious of handwriting fluidity -
now: digit plucking - each letter a solipsistic
"counterstrike"...
     yes... looks like we have ourselves...
the... *****...
             clearly...   zee... ШИЦ!

inversion of mooment - the crows are
near tonight: they are quarreling with the gods...
or perhaps that's just the ***** foxes
teasing leather -
   that i write and there's no music
to distract me: elevate this already
impossible...

i go to sleep with alarm bells ringing...
robert duncan's realisation that he was a poet
aged 17... upon leaving high-school
i did stand before the entire cohort
of my contemporaries and recited a poem:
over which i cried two days prior...
an epileptic seizure gripped
my body from neck down...
but i did manage a recitation...
    i was supposed to become a chemist
now i'm looking for a part-time occupation
in the n.h.s. as having:
good organisational skills and...
a sense of humour...
or some BICS: for... part time gigs at
the ol' B... B... C...
i don't mind i just want something
to execute an elevated trance of
robotics to let my mind wander...
outside the confines of robo-brutus-robos:
anti-caesar: oh look! "us"!

two "inconveniences" of the 20th century
motivate me...
the despots and the shan franshishko poets...
there's that famous gozilla
of a tornado... there's that...
Bulgakov centre piece of a collection
of... best kept hush-hush among
the moth community...

   that language toys with me that
i don't want to have a competence with it
concerning that i don't have a narrrative
that i'm all tickety-fuckety
when it comes to clocks and eternal silences...
a clock on earth... vacuum...
a boiling kettle on pluto...
given only these two ***** for juggling...
it's... kinda boring... isn't it?
how is one expected to juggle
only two *****?
two oranges... better image... get go image!
i juggle time... i juggle space...
both so impossibly impersonal:
i'd loot a grave for an epitaph that
might make an irish joke down
a pub about them...

       and they kept 'em "*******" in the sports
and kept 'em prized athletes... coz cousing
'arab?
well... they knew those hebs
were expendable from the ghetto-go
prior to the gassing stipends...
it's not these whites keep:
samson strength of david-esque
ingenuity...
it's not like the hebs matter in the world
of sporting events...
gift of the gab... i guess that's what
prizes them above all else...
gifts of "superstition"...
to me? there is enough phonetic evidence
to summon me to showcase
that... the tetragrammaton is...
a spider in a web of english:
surd H(atches)...

        a breath of a dying man
about to... pOUNCE!
but the jews were never cotton pickers...
they were never athletes -
if they ever built the pyramids...
i wonder...
it's not like... they... possibly...
hebrews are intellectual creatures:
they are not... about to be caricatured
with fully functioning limbs
readied for the ******* colliseum...
unless they might me...
nero's torches...
and the greek conspiracy -
after all...
           wouldn't the greeks have
conspired....
to topple rome...
in order to therefore...
retain a dominance of power:
byzantine: years after the western
"concept" crumbled?

you don't keeps jews to have
the masses entertained:
you keep the ******* to falsetto
the ******* roll-a-bit sort of gimmick...
run around... kick a coconut...
come back with a lion's golden mane...
jason and the argonauts...
casimir and the ******* cosmotaunts:

*** note on biGGer?
better: sniGGer!
i count less in niGerian -
the offensive sound - less by scent
of "things": a heb is not a jew is  yew:
from a ***...
you can't leave these tracers or:
otherwise we: shun the *****!
that's great: i too spell a sound without
a necessity to connote malice...
but of course: borrowed lithuanian
that i am: under the hellish
anglo-saxon brute manifesto...
all is glacier and glycerine and
toughening of Karen east of any
that's east... the mouthful of
the Danube...

       to "bleep" out a sound to
mishandle the necessity of meaning:
if the blacks can own a ******
why can't i... not own a ******
in his stead of... to tattoo myself
all aryan:
the jew that never made it to
the coliseum as a gladiator -
this burning ***** hair floss of
st. peter's crux...

  we are still in favour of african
mind: less productive:
readily this body made...
there's now clue as to why
a thought concerning:
Proteus - Herr Frankenstein's monster:
Einzstein: Zuerst- also a -stein / - shtein...
zweite-christus-und-stein!

it's unlike a must it's not this
competition with: social inclusive standards:
of what?
the saxon: project that -
one year excluded the irish...
other year: made great fictions
surrounding Libya...
i have before me a history:
that in part i cannot inherit...
i have these... fickle restrictions:
panderings: walking on egg-shell
moments for...

in my own wery brittle: sam's son:
didn't herr voltzwitz stress:
son of sam-
         em... -uel
                 or... -son?
                          jacob my dear fiction...
continue: bring forth
these nuanced goods...

and my two morning synchs...
a cat that wakes me come nearing 5am:
to watch him: entertain myself...
him taking a **** or a ****...
into a tight bundle of imitation
sahara...
or another... to attire her with
creases of the hand...
to pet her... so that she feels
obliged to sleep in my bed...

there i was concerning myself:
does my beard reveal the cubism
of a violin?!
i still have two russian letters on
my mind...
i'll burn them into my forehead
so that i can allow myself to sleep...
but besides?
there's this, courtous conversation
i am to be having - past participle
and future: yes... i mean no...
i will not be having this
african gladiators contra the yiddish
intellectual sludge extension:
no anglo-saxon sensibility will
save me from this: it's own...
hidden lick o' "squander"...

   pandering... for... enough ******
autonomy... to clean offices...
and find the joy of a mind's escapism...
pandering to who beside
the ******* tended to orators
and giggling politicians?

this is enough of a night's vanquish...
to have: as i have: have tamed.

p.s. there's no proof in you "not being" racist
by having ****** a black girl...
i just wonder: could it have been enough
when the trans-racial incorporation
sequence to create the copper-skin
pseudo-arabs begun...
when it was still a taboo...
   not now... i don't know vot "vey"
vont.... or'zzz dunst noot vont...
lebanon?

             i can see myself, though...
******* some copper-skin imitation
h'arab as far tainted as:
lemon-squinting: there's no sunrise:
come the blessings of beijing...
yeah... i too would like to marinade...
or at least have that prawn flesh
tenderness:
to be able to cook in enough
critic acid... without the use
of over boiling water...
it's called tenderising or:
some other magic word...

            *** notes: yes yes...
thoroughly throughout...
fishing for russian nazis...
            ah ha ha...         deaf-tone... joke.

Our rare, blue celestial Heaven's Holiest Lord Prince Jesus Christus
of King Jehovah God knew that another ***** slap equalled spiteful
death so He held back ultra judgment for the moment, knowing too
well what Turkey's Turkish attacks on ***** Catholical Rome meant

Suckin' *** with Salem's Witch-Beaters (who're *****, picky eaters)
When it rains on witches my **** twitches like 15 nerves in stitches
When I beat raw  **** meat, dead on 2 feet, I'm mindful not to cheat

Long-Dead **** Architect Bruno Leon's Cold Christened Christus
[**** are victims of inappropriate work behavior in ****** places.]
******* is corrupting, enzymical and in other ways.

The Raging African-American in All Men...Duwayne sat on a big mountain that overlooked his crib. His biotch was naked and dead. His homies were in jail. Duwayne had money that he had taken from his A.I.D.S.-infected mama's purse. Yesterday a baby squirrel fell from a tree. Duwayne ate it and then stole a car.