Living is a cross
That any one of the rock-faces
Comprehends.


We are drawn
To many seas.
We drown wholesomely
In the failures of confrontation.
The rain
Drenching
Our doorsteps
Has nothing to do
With the simplest desires
And lacerations
We bring
To the smallest acts
Of living.


The child
On the broken catwalk
Hearing the sounds of our hunger
Without understanding
Throws echoes back
To the earliest abandonments
Of love.


Minor devastations preceding
Horror
Resonate the ineffable.
The mothers that wake
At the slightest sound
And the fathers that
Smoke all night
And the rest of us who are
Vigilantes from the demons
Of oppressed sleep
Find at dawn the clearest
Images of bewilderment.
Even the best things
Collapse beneath the weight
Of ignorance.


Living is a fire
That any one of the wave-lashes
Comprehends.
___
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml

I famigerate without taciturn timidity the straits of a straightened jury-rig of nesiote narrowbacks harping the accordion zest and zeal of the plenilune consuetude of a scrivello infamy sprung into the rows of rip-tide acclaim hamstrung by the decline in fastidious upkeep of the timberlask vesicles that avoid the phenakism of prismatic reformation fundamental to transmogrified simpers of dismal saturnine darkness encroaching on the parallax of realms within the dominion of the Almighty for the omniety of the usucaption of the fruitful prune in the priggish afterglow of a noontide eclipse bereaved of whispering retreat in the hallowed wasms of stiltanimity becoming an entreaty to ecumenical barbs of propriety selected without intimacy to folksy bibliopolists but rugged in sterling tribute to the true vine of the appointed ways of sacerdotal triage among a roughshod vanity of a derelict world marveling at otiose rejoinder rather than true spasms of tragedy flickering in the recessive alleles of a careworn culture. The travesty of Beirut is the bromide of current leapfrogs of sentinel lust and malapert destruction forming an ironclad camaraderie with chocolate-box langlauf disasters wed uxoriously to the penury of the brackish version of the catadromous bailiwick of despotic nescience pregnant with sophrosyne redemption at the cusp of a plaid perfunctory quip of quisling intimations of the sketchy provenance of humdingers of comestion lurking in the plodding prowl of a ribald wiseacre of a beckoned billow of trinkochre welded into a conscientious blarney that awaits the popinjays that sculpt brittle redshort fictions into awakened carapaces of a limacine reduction of impoverished fulmination into the neatly sworn footprints of a geotaxis shuddering with magnetism only in spectacle without the overhailing zeal of vintners who specialize in curtailed wine drawn from Caiaphas and soaked with the muddy turgid Siloam as avenues toward the repentance of asunder becoming marginalized as a whimper of taciturn choleric war receding not even into an audible delope as the masterful chryselephantine assault of cryptic auditions in the theater of effete refuge sink into the pelagic oblivion of a remarkable blister festering into inconsequence as the rebarbative emoluments to tattered travesty hearken a battle-cry yet emanated in the reprehensible bulwark of the gerendum of a poised plastered humility aggrieved with such friction turgid on rollicking magpiety that even the larceny of brutish renegades of triumph sink beneath the brevity of accident rather than the fortitude of globalized turpitude weakened by the improper demarche of fuliginous homeless depredation of innocent bystanders flocking to the harvest of war found in insight rather than the perfunctory bromidrosis of the macroscian enmity of hidden maleficence spawning a credenda that is spayed on arrival in the faineant zoolatry of a spelunkers’ madcap dash to flex the filigrees of turmoil in resentment of the amicable truces of a God who never tempts and a lurking lie that never itches for trigger-happy hapless rebukes because the skittish skirmish of futilitarian repose is a scoundrel of the profligacy of errant weakness blinkered by the humdrum din of deafening semaphores of provocative thornbush on the threshing floor of cowardly imposture president of all affairs of spirit and all renegades of caitiff megalography of forgotten oblivion despite the curglaff of vindictive and never vindicated assaults on the integrity of the birthright of Lebanon to wager a presumptive gamble of trifling retribution for the alacrity of suspicions eloping with forbidden mistresses in the humdingers of flackey rather than the troudasque harbinger of a lunacy impugned by a restive triumphant fallow time seasonable for a litany of pretenses demassified for a liturgy of seances with eldritch commiseration in the saw-toothed serration of selachostomous bravado wielded by likely or unlikely culprits of ravenous ruin shepherded by the guilty cardinal sins of the complicity of explosive vanity marauding on the ruins of a fortress debased by pettifoggery of internal excuse rather than the wrath of provocative ire in the irksome cauterized wounds of the inured to deliver spectacular reticence despite such grievous diacope. Evil gilderoys of maleficence carve the sapwood of the periphery to aimless subversions miscarried by the modern atrocity of glamour memorialized as a sound-byte underminnow of a roaring rhombos rip tide as stocks wavy at the curvature of edgy demarche despoil the denuded wasteland of cultural despondency a wagtail to the impudence of famigerated affronts that deserve a sterling recompense wielded by the onerous and operose burdens of a prone decubitus of aboriginal bread seeded from Heavenly realms dissipating into the roars of blinded conflagration too meek to even exist on the ramshackle hillside of a barnstorm of aggression powerless to encapsulate the nexility of unspoken allegiance to destruction rather than the halidom of consecrated marriages balking at the caulked provisions of a slugabed monolith of craven capers on the recesses of abeyance in the interregnum of a time where famous people communicate with me. How can such a charismatic bravado of lurking presidency stoop to the denizens of usufruct in licentious latitudes on the outskirts of consideration even pretend anymore that the vacuum of effluvium (Gal 6:7) can be mocked and milked into the row of centuries blistering through the calenture of apprisal and heaved awakening as the zephyrs of the Occident meet temporal juncture with the coenesthesia of a hibernating trumpery formed by the turnverein of listless lethargy billowing through fumiducts of siphoned lavaderos of hypogeiody that the underground spasms of cacophony could marvel at the historic emergence of a magnate with the most powerful magnetism of God shepherding the true flock John 10:27 because he is willing to be the good shepherd and potentially die for his sheep John 10:11. Remember, whenever you hear a Queer Studies Radical Feminist bloviate on emasculated sardanapalian posture John 8:44 and even though personified as a masculine titan of bulwarks of immense otiose wilted inkburch shielding the world from true meaning, the maskirovka of the Devil is present in the dark trespasses of personal abandon among the wilderness of many marsupial jackals of martles wagtails to an invictive proclamation of invulnerable sappy sopanaceous filibusters against hefty sinew forged the bony fragments of the charnels lost to brief epitaphs never mourned in threnodies worthy of remembrance that the departed died with us and live again through us whether in Heaven as participant or on Earth as an acting battalion of the skullduggery of the mystique of shimmers of God acting on Man’s behalf 1 Col 1:15-16. That the firstborn of all creation obtains supremacy through the finalisms that I seek as the captain of trailblazing untrammeled roads we are reminded of the narrow and wide gates expanded by the explosion of thought that trespasses into the hidebound ratchet of a reasonable bleat becoming a harsh outcry of justice for Lebanon that they feel so powerless in implosion what could aggrieve potentate civilizations to the precipice of global maleficence in destruction. Swarming for alveolate hominid hominism as an outgrowth of alienation by design polarized spectral dangles at jaundice flamestun by the ordeal of oppositive barnacles to the chryselephantine habituation of a masked menace of Procrustean authority to muzzle the free license of armamentariums of a latent man keen to the kenspeckel visibilia that we might have punctuation in the poised primiparas of a hearkened unprecedented in modern history that the traipse of lapse is no longer the tenure of mindless calculation of authoritarian gabble sentries of a mobilized fleet of embodied human ignorance but a foisted sprite of whangams of apothegm that deserve in their gnomic respite from the phenakisms of a philogeant kumbaya assertive in its treony of radical compassion for those who dwell in tentpoles of revelry bound not to the covenant that sent us into light and sparkling in hidden obsolescence that the fulgurant words of Mount Horeb (Sinai) are both immaculate and without trace of sin because Acts 17:30 declares a powerful truth lost to the twinges of time that issued peremptory governance of my theology but through remission I admit the grievances of septiferous blockades of ponderous plodding nescience haunting the spectral aubades of paeans to a high-flown sun darting through galactic space apace of the velivolant sails of divine wind that come in the spree of recompense authored by the vines to which all roots belong rhizogenic and immutable because the demarches of time forget the marches against the cauterized grime of new-world suspicions of aleatory fickle gubernatorial proclamations that issue reverb more than sprinkle flanged atrocity in the sight of the holy ramparts of an active double-edged God who reminds us of our many witnesses but provides not a single latchkey of escapism resident to many hapless homes of the drunken sing-song rhapsody nullifying the psychotaxis of the motatory miserly Draconian charades of Leviathan grasping the tridents of warp-speed revisionism in a benighted world overrun by mandarist fictions that fumigate a pasteurized control of cultural malcontent in situations of dearth infested by the concentration camps of China that remain unheralded in brumal and brutish indoctrination spared from worldwide outrage by the tribunes that are complicit more in malfeasance than they are celebrated for the herald of heinous bletcherous crimes of abecedarian abligurition anointed in waste rather than refined like unquenched slakes of eternal water so that no man can thirst hungry for the daily bread without returning to the providence of God awakened. Recalcitrant by the impudent quislings of repugnasket flarmeys of advenient flummoxed besieged clairvoyance I bask and beaze on the light that never fades because of the brackish whisk of a barnstorm of allegiance that is contumely to a bromide society listless in inferiority of intellect to my former streaks beyond jejune reiteration of the Jehu mentality against the canine fate of Jezebel and her faltered ministry of ewnastique waged as battalion gore of a trifling musket of an aboriginal swim through the oceanic gaze of peerless eternity squirming because of flagging resolution among the spandrels of incommunicable largesse lolloped extravagantly not just for the spoils of hyped pedigree but also a chamade to Heaven to enlist the purblind vestiges of a crambazzled Earth rejuvenated in adolescent esprit rather than callow eclat against the outrecuidance of whimpered miserly conscientiousness that exists in a shorter frame of reference than the provident dashes through a furlough of time and ancestry to cobble together a lapidary bristling excoriation of the tumescent squabbles of mystique brave enough to rarefy the humid pasteurization of a mannequin kenspeckel still-frame jilt of jostled infamy brusque in its curt envies borne of still-born promenades of a whasper between the youthful ligony and the intrepid soul of a collective warrior debased by the adscititious participant to elegant effronteries of the newfangled intellectual vogue that is the grombang of the tralleyripped hamshackle of ostentation meeting mirrored paralysis in sheepish ewnastique creations meddlesome in their ironic frizz of recursion as I lounge on the habits of creation by intelligent lurches of design that appointed the demarcations of all creatures and the mysterious bridge between the missing links that remain elusive to the flombricks of the misery of epigenetic rhizogenic imparlance of desuetude cringing at foresight littered with the disaster of ravished hindsight blushing at the limpid degeneration of the vapid varnish of benighted ligony rather than heroic strides of stoic-epicurean compromise in the apolaustic pursuit of the one eternal God present in rebellion but never the temptress of mendacity and mendaciloquence because the tug I have on speed is ratifying a cauterized casualty in the spumid betrothed wicked snuffs of extinguished furor for a time beyond barnstormed racloir rugged origination and faulty phenogenesis that escorts mythos into actionable litanies of the awakened breed scoffing at the inkburch of “Electrolytes”-wernaggle that besets the queer fascinations of a warped generation. The pytherian swank of artrench embodied in the recocted rendevation of hypetrophy in hubris swaddled by the reductive dranger polluting the realm of compliant complicant complaints of the ashowel of albatross astroud in the hibernaculum of langlauf rather than the ultramontane fiduciary tether to the estrockentch rather than the laureates of plevisable courage found in truest shades of vinsky not the subhastation of a gaslighted galvanization of purebred classy swivels of opportunism nor the ravenous incubus appetite for usufruct in subversion belongs to the behest of an insular nesiote flexing the flux of subversion as the candid posies of saccharine immodesty become relegated figments of the everlasting age of promised propriety rather than rigid stultimathy of hackencrude virtues of virtuosos that marvel at troudasque wonders occluded by the girlcott of Team Biden and his militarized soldiers of desiccation of trumpery and the faucets unbounded by swanky concealed epithets of regaled rentgourge by a hapless objection of the runic destruction of apothecary leniency becoming of the betokened emblazonry of scrimshank in every perfuncturation but embodiment of character shouldered by every chasm of power erected in demolition of the warped egintoch radicalism of the submerged wernaggles of the hopeless minority swimming with autodimplage few have to bear but the truest flock of God heeds my voice and has the sapience to spare themselves of contumely and invective to hearsay of invictive triumph beyond radioglare swirk to renege the musical providence of the chamades to the asterongue I often take for granted by immunifacient degrees of the foretold encroaching upon the crux of a pivotal and pivoted destiny not distant from cordial providence. The sweedle of epigones for the risctender of obligation to subvert the coryphaeus with the rigmarole of gentincture borrowed from the Gates’ formulaic effleck of perverse warbles of collectivized contrition for abetted cultural pederasty limpid in its achieved objective of the crudenzy borrowed from a lacking impediment to arentrum belonging to the knowledgeable happenstance of the glorified dengonin is a denostram that forestalls the agelasts behind porsters of culture rather than legitimate mainlined contamination of wellsprings of fliction of paranoiac enthusiasm might swim in kinkativy blinkered blind piebald girouettism but never dauntless in sematic entrenchment of robust dilettantism as the swaddled corrugation of time into centripetal ****** against centrifugal modernism that alienates propriety while estranging by vacuous vacuums the outspoken progeny of the surviving age beyond the Jay and Silent Bob travesty that manifests as a glower of menacing Bushian invention to tarnish with ****** mythos the drapes of a defenestrated realism of the flinkers of sheepish indignation against many drakstings of intonorous sclerotic mandibles of crackjaw chockablock annihilation of core precepts and institutions indelible from the face of a quixotic entreaty of a ragged intrusion of ageotropic monoideism above the secular-clerical fidelity of honest witness borne of triumph and tribulation festooning the nativist hyperbole into a useless effigy of mountebank imposture silly in precision and purblind to gallantry. Yet I must kisswonk rather than truckle under such ponderous pretense because of a sertivine certainty in the thickets of prudence rather than the tomfoolery of humgruffin impudence scaffolds me to a post-modern ****** that shanks through prisons of guilt and burrows an interrogation of reality supreme over all complaint that the virtuosity of the Gifted (the elect flock that comprehends my volcanic diatribes against mandarism and stomachs them without sardonic pastorauling insults of passerby vicissitude) will spare many nations of awakened perjury against human instinct in the fitness of nations to denigrate the populist squalor of lurid and livid ewnastique wernaggles of the listless buttress against my formal modesty encouraged in all affairs even in aggrieved humility belonging to intimidation rather than spawned jostles through the rumpus of shunamitism that might rankle a later age.  Yentrified morality is a personal flapdoon against the promiscuous pederasty of freewheeling ophelimity and the lurking narquiddity of the traindeque of donnist hedonism to hijack my psychedelic tolerance into an unwarranted and inadvisable sanction into the netherworld of the frinterans of cultural modality that curdact religion into a cosmetic cosmogony rather than a soldiered infamy becoming a beacon on a towering hill growing in solidarity with the pleonasm of existence itself which surpasses crude formulas that already abide by the riches of decorum too much to be admired as trigger-happy fools run the asylum of domesticated irony and the librettos to downfall rather than the wassails of “The Man” becoming more masculine in featured charisma rather than defiled against Leviticus among others who preach belonging to nuclear creed without fission but for true rapprochement to the fusion of the treony with legitimate gripes of unsung complaint among the masculine minority. The traindeque of a baseline complaint aggrieved by the kilmarge carapace of stiltanimity for the hackencrude resentment of the inkburch of illiteracy is a profligate degeneracy lurid in hyped enmity that the envied entreaty becomes the despotic shadow masquerading in shadows blossoming into the full wisdom of the mature sophrosyne heart eager to pour out blessings upon a conservation of recycled epitaphs becoming hearsay in a rebarbative convolution of redacted rigmarole incendiary to whittled henpecks of political engineering but never vapid in their flagging insistence upon an ecumenical toleration of the brooks of modernity and compromise upon which much felicity is aggrandized and permuted against the spoilsport frinterans who encage a dodgy moralism in wilted etiolated jaunty pedigree that espouses the maudlin grievous and ghastly ghouls and sprites that haunt the fictional hobgoblins of the Potemkin Village that finds usury convenient and perjury even more facile for the glib facetious engineers of modalities of hatred unsung by the ribald witwanton “I got a Solution...You’re a ****…South Carolina What’s Up” crowd that never marvels at ingenuity or rarely attempts it in the summit of the climacteric jaundice of hidebound whemmles of ridicule sparring against spartan flagitious wiseacres of genocide of ideation for the revelry of armed missives denatured by raw promotion of the questionable ethics of a flavork of needed slakes of unquenchable desire swarming us with daily temptresses not of wayward women but the disarmed pretense of a lapidary rejoinder to a long expatiation or harangue against hackencrude curdles of rowboat injustice masquerading as sentinel savory destruction of the towering edifice of proclamation. There is great menace in the casuistry of sophist philogeant philocubists dicey with destiny for mincemeat puppetry against sciamachy for the gallionic rise of gammadions in the craven lore of baseline pasquinade rallied to the insuperable causes of tribal shibboleth anointed by secular totemisms of fracture and fricative hisses of lineage that amount to pleonasms of brassage rather than mystagogical mystique of the prestige of human fraternity that shatters paradigms of creed and invites an honest vestige of Noble Savages to roam the Earth yet again unencumbered by lugubrious welters of misnomer and malapropism wagered by artifices of guileless supremacy that is cursory prima facie neglect of even the sororal duties not of sophomoric glib facetious cowardice of backbited backlash of venom militarized for the desuetude of entertained visagists sculpting *****-nilly their version or verdict of decisive apartheid when we should all rally behind the united frontier of the chosen flock in the chosen generation to truckle beneath the pews not of ignorance aggravated by the polluted kilmarge egintoch puritan barbs against publicity choices I now regret (as an emolument to an incredibly euphoric track with a poor miserly message to the enchanted flock inoculated from such diversions) because alighted upon the quenched thirst of salvation I will be judged more harshly as a teacher James 3:1 than the rest of my flock but gifted with the gratuitous salvation carved from the chiselers of ribald infamy capering around with dacoitage and ladronism of the bomans of unsuspecting quixotic caprice I must reckon with the burden of ghoulish shadows on the spectral imprint of my eternal soul relishing in vicarious splendor yet bereaved of quintessential love 1 Cor 13:4 that is necessary for the nuclear conclamation of vibrant hues of resplendent and refulgent providence necessary not from a dynastic perspective but from an aimed providence that alerts dynamism rather than chides with mimes of useless schadenfreude carved from the prestidigitation of the wicked condemned in Galatians 6:7 for the mockers of sanctanimity accorded upon me as gratuity that no man can boast my elite ears and my astute wonderworks of imagination qualified me for prophecy and among the most mesmerizing prophecies registered to fulfillment that the world has ever yet witnessed because the watershed isn’t a bridgewater for the chavish of ignoramus hatred congealed into thrombosis but the narrowed gate enlarges to encompass the swath of man amenable to the flocks that escort me into permanence rather than regale the tridents of a hedonism that elected me clairvoyant at a cost of immaculate splendor registered to the holy clergy of the Sacred Catholic Church and the broader Ecumenical Endeavor that tries to be a seamstress and bridge elemental divides inherent to divided approaches to liturgy which flex their strengths in times of robust fortitude rather than become a subhastation to the vestiges of the pilgrimage to false tabernacles erected by people cozened into charlatan endeavors by the pernicious and persnickety whiplash of Least Common Denominator subversion of widely heralded sentience and sapience enriching the lot of human ambition rather than stoking useless conflagrations of refracturism accorded to the swallock of primposition of the hackneyed hackencrude that swivels with the odious ornery pretense of overtures not to apertures and lychgates of the true abiding Heaven felt on Earth by many Christians whether in sobriety or not without the evil maleficence of a misguided donnism of narquiddity for the grambazzles of aged recklessness aborning on vacant responsibility that is rickety in its magnanimity of absolution because of the ulterior chase for bottom-line top-dollar oligochrome foisted by the cartels that blind true spiritual insight from ever reaching the magnitude of ambition required to shape mountains of revolution among the tertiary squabbles of a conversant Earth open to the troudasque gallop into yield and cloveryield for repcrevel reforms the paludism of the swamp remains skittish about conforming to because objectivism is a renegade of perspicuous light blinkering in hubris and gourmandizing the hinderbaggle of cosmetic pollutions aggravated by the plevisable articles of envy and TLDR politics to “Electrolyte” logic that is a sad recursive wernaggle of the useless buffoonery of humgruffins of tatterdemalion spate rollicking in the magpiety of a timid consentient faltering myth of unanimity among the beleaguered rainbows of many lugubrious tears showering bickering blasphemy upon the mockery of God for the pleasantry of self-aware sheepish resignation that professes only that any form of meritocracy is existentially unfounded only because the beehive elected its progeny the scepter of the ironclad kingdom that wages war against idolatry and serenades heaven with luxury simultaneously. We are all shepherds of providence and there is power enough in collective prayer that we don’t fiddle around with bodewash in mistaken identity but riddle the persnickety blemish of the fastidious critiques of biting sarcasm as a tantamount blasphemy and a criminal repartee of sardonic cloys of inanity foisted above truth. The peevish breedbates who scour my evidentiary pillar of chiseled vertebrae of unbroken bones of solidarity with oikonisus will be sorely disappointed in their truthful audits of my true perception because in every single case it exonerates me from the pulpit of menacing idiots who scrawl random gabble in attempts to sound smart while reeking of iniquity wrought by the gavels of predevoted inferiority of complexion and attitude that gravitates them to an insensate benumbed transmogrified bailiwick of an appalling atrocity of mythomaniacal myths spurned by consensus among those who prize my grandeur above the superstitions of the illiteracy of the rancid rankle of otiose stupidity writhing its own sheepish envy of arbitrary dislike motivated by feminist aggressors waging warfare on turf I already conquered by swaying the intelligentsia to beckon my cause rather than pillory me on a false scaffold of frinteran abuses of the nyejays of bernacle that junediggle in the taradiddle of the nanciful excoriation of my leaden corpse weighed down by the witchcraft of connivance trayning its own delicate myths while avoiding scrutiny for appalling contumely that deserves an audience more suited for fracklings of treony belonging to the trinkochre of the rising alienation and suicides among perverted gay indoctrination that is a scourge on the planet because it willfully denies with its portentous hibbles the regaled wisdom of the culminated age against renegades of apostasy and for the behemoths of true monumental change that sizzles in savory circles among the vanguard only to alarm the Status Quo hijack of my entire endeavors as a covert crusade to use wrecking-ball fashion tactics to cosmetically incisively and insidiously perform a harprick of surgery upon a blameless countenance only for being a thorn to wragatek wragapole slavery which wages war against universal salvation because it gripes with inkburch and circular pleonasms about the most obvious glaring lies and feasts upon the serrated edge of the capers of hatred that frolic in meadows too skittish to enter the barbarian fortress of my forested residence robust in fortitude and glowering with a menacing contempt for runaround psychobabble that obganiates the obelisk of the moribund crusade to make normative ethics effeminate and to enthrone inviolable women’s speech as supreme to any male objections like the Cristiano Ronaldo accuser that came forth 8 months after #MeToo one of the most dishonest campaigns in modern history enthroned by Hollywood elites in gammerstang insurrection against pay-gap ethics done manipulatively with the sapwood of mendaciloquence like Blasey Ford whose physiognomy reeked of maudlin pretense that was so ornery in how obvious of a maleficence the intrepid Abortion Agenda has over the minds of selfish women who prefer ecbolic second-term abortions to the servile gripes of primiparas building new life rather than tearing down the scaffolds of new generations. Hominism deserves its rise because-in increasing numbers-men are derelicted by society and coerced into vapid tallespin enslavement that ridicules itself with the perjury of soul to the soulless vanity of recursive cycles of benumbed narquiddity found in “****** Hero” among other atrocities littering the human fascination with the hinderbaggle of our polluted age verging on totemic blistering hegemony of a few rotten apples corrupting the vagrant ingenuity of the forgotten champion who ushered in a new era of candor in the attempted interregnum of the United States government because I Am Hollywood got the name correct considering how many memorials there are to me in the movie industry. The junediggles of sc-ha-den-freud-e which is as deliberate of a German pun as JUDEn JuDEN which shows the German language is as farsighted as you can get and why many of my neologisms have a German tinge to them. German is an elegant language with botched syntax but a peerless repertoire of vocabulary and even though I love French, the Germans are smart because their language is smart not just because of petty arguments of pedigree which are specious at best. Being dontolesque with  the zenkidu of rengall nauclatic mythos is an artful degree which accords nominal prestige to licentiates while excorifying the obvious metaphors of sunblind logic that scours the scorched Earth of internet diatribes of sophistry and dethrones the Marcie Biancos of the world “Heterosexuality is officially OVER...K Bye” with her 145 IQ and a Stanford Degree in Queer Studies (A professed atheist by her own Twitter admission) with the warped logic to equate a heterosexual relationship for a woman as ******* to patriarchy. For someone that well-studied in literature she sure is a dumb-*** and I will demolish the syntagma of those that root against me for Status Quo preservation in the official interregnum of Saturdays during the Trump Presidency. We need an official referendum on the ideas of termagant illogical anti-egalitarian poison that derives from a deracinated worldview that doesn’t contextualize how powerful language is at shaping thought because if the entire world were Anglophonic every single country on Earth virtually would see immediate dividends in terms of intellectual creativity and limber with concepts and percepts because it is no accident the most successful empire in History the United Kingdom, was favored because of its shibboleths of Shakespearean creativity draped with flairs of the irreverent while gilded by God to be a majestic commonwealth. England and France monopolized a huge majority of history by no accident because although English might be a slightly keener language the French culture of salons of freewheeling intellectual enlightenment gilded the 17th and 18th centuries into absolution despite the Panglossian epithets of Voltaire who was ironically dissuaded from religion because of the All Saints Day 1755 Lisbon Earthquake and Tsunami. We need to be vigilant against encroachments of perceived shibboleths and more keen on an affirmative meritocracy that favors the poor and blesses the meek in their poverty and inspire ambition among them to join the coteries of refinement in thought sometimes harder to achieve with crackjaw lollops in pleonasmic languages that fail to articulate with nexility or forceful wit the true abstractions that govern the pataphysics of the unknown. Language is so decisive over human thought that it is incumbent upon every language to refine its vocabulary to trayne compendious verbiage and trim the hedges of global reform to invite the curiosity of the age to favor all creeds and languages of Abraham and the diverse progeny of a variegated panoply of majestic feats common to all parlance and capacity beyond just the Anglophonic snare because the world needs not a chicanery of blustering churlish buffoonery but an Almighty respect for the consanguinity of all to God’s blessed creation that he inseminated by his deliberate hands to enrich the world with diversity rather than cleave the world with piecemeal skeumorphs of radical propaganda that opposes the modern and post-modern egalitarian streak. One wrong must be corrected, however, the underrepresentation of Hispanics in the media and in film because this grave error is much more pervasive than the ******* LGBT inclusion narrative because these days the lollygags of fashionista odalisques with Obelisks to Baal get more say over the common decorum than the marginalized bronteum of the  rich and vibrant Latino culture which is squelched by the poverty of media and Hollywood representation. Synectics showcases how a henpecked aim at the synaesthesis of culture congregated around our Almighty Father blessed among the nations who adhere to the progeny of Abraham can be more blessed when working together rather than tribal with nepotism and aristocratic in sustained affronts to the elevation of affirmative meritocracy to the forefront of discussion rather than the froward backlash of benumbed narquiddity because the synallagamatic nature of complexity needs to be devolved with industrious ambition to all cultures and the savory flair of the vogue needs not merely a wednongue fascination with an eventual terminus of crudenzy but a sustained intellectual reformation on all fronts to standardize the English language through Hollywood and the Music Industry so that the dragnets of appeal etch a permanent trace into the engraved souls of the true flock John 10:27 are consecrated in divine purpose to reverse the Babylonian Diaspora of confused and conflated purpose that stunts the raltention of humane course and the proper pataphysical syncrisis of an evolved mundane temperament that transcends the circular traps of circumlocution common to the milquetoast industrial titans who winsomely charm with toady gestures the elitism of a moribund philosophy of intellectual thought delegation to elevate the common rhetoric to reach new pinnacles in both tribune and political gamesmanship because higher standards are required even when they surpass some common understanding so that every ambition becomes a conclave for the goal of human unity solidified by the truth of the kerygma and proclaimed to all creation as the culminated synclastic reformation of the idea of indulgence and the propriety of regaled moderation that appeases the common decorum with a shared vested interest in Latin America especially which is besieged by the cultural tenets of obrogated specialization and denigrated by the common myths of warped phenogenesis which should be debunked as a wasm of hypocrisy limited because its callous tentacles lack the charismatic fulgurant equipment of future generations to bear the operose burdens of a quintessential time of harmony united by the hymns for God by God to appease the sentries in Heaven and the celestial realms that exist for our merriment more than our detriment. The sprauncy have the  frikmag to recognize the spuria of apocryphal heresies that encourage kinship above matriotism and shared fortitude for intellectual valor rather than “*** talk TLDR” hashtags abounding on the turf of the insensate wernaggle of clueless charlatans wiggling through life not because they were borne into slavery but because they choose to be Helicopter Parents of “Baby Shark” rather than token mantelpieces of enlivened culture shimmering with radiation of Gods glory as cemented in Colossians 1:15-16 because the firstborn of all creation lives in some form in the ligature of Christ 1 Cor 12:12 because there are so many talents that exist in our variegated world that the mastery of expertise in dominions of conversant fluency will abet the variegated crops of a draped humanity corrugated on its own ironies for the delicate sizzle of beatific felicity multiplying itself in centupled design over centuries to overcome hinderbaggle while realizing the fictions of some drawflark. The strigine world concedes to this upstart rooster maybe considered a parvenu of dearth but luxuriant in riches boundless to all that draw near to the kerygma of Christ and feast on his daily bread found throughout liturgy because we should listen to people like Cardinal Timothy Dolan who is exceptionally astute (perhaps an understatement) to guide us on a regenerative rather than degenerative pathway towards universal attempts at salvation that broach a new decorum bridged by aliens to select chosen emissaries to bridle the fissions of repartee reserved for the forlorn that balk at ambition rather than relish a new era of seditious determination against the determinist fallacy and for the mental health of those coping with autodimplage and sheepish regrets and persnickety articles of remorse because all the world deserves our consolation and desperate attention rather than the trumpery of the circus masquerade of marauding agitprop which congeals into thrombosis of toxicity as the vast majority of Democrats refuse to even hear Trump speak when he is discussing discursive solutions to enigmatic quagmires,for, if more people listened to Trump they would be disabused by the specious claims of his misogyny and white allegiances because his candor is brilliant and despite the prominent advocacy of Biden who has considerable prestige in my memory, we deserve a bipartisan syncretism that unites the world and unifies the country away from the swerve of salacious mythos and towards a rambunctious magpiety of solidarity against the secular humanism of a defunct piety to Marxist feminism which is a crudenzy among the awakened men around the world increasingly alienated by the hackencrude of wednongue illiteracy even trumpeted by the vanguard as panacea when it is a comestible form of poison. We need visionary unity where there was once toxic divisive balkanization of exclaves of limited foresight clashing with new wave awakening to the persecution of illumination itself for not a rigid hierarchy but a flexible structure of inclusion that adjusts to cultural expectancy and modifies the traindeque that strands many in institutionalized poverty especially in Latin America and India and obviously Africa too. The stegophilists of language should herald the aubade of the chavish of redintegration over the squawk of din of squabbles of internecine redacted revisionism beleaguering our lyceums with toxic agitprop even at the highest institutions of learning who balk often at the recycled auditorium of useful thought because their venal tilt is complicit in squelching freedom of thought and our schools should open early so that zig-zag-zoom politics around feldtrounds who are eagerly outnumbered by the patrons who police thought become agentic not with outspoken treacheries but inseminations of intimation to hint at the spectral mystagogical reality we are all members of despite hurdles that beset the hemiteries of odalisques who seek inertia rather than mobilization. The ribald underminnow of transparency is a carcinogen of the rampant siege of Status Quo coarse hypocrisy for tentative flings with cadged cloyed saturnine professions of the landmines of atrocious miscarriage as I soldier on in the causes of the poor and the forlorn to become enriched by the glory that God delivers with munificence so that all might be enriched by the emanations of the true vine and in distaste of error I rebuke the armada of belittled armamentariums of the cantonment of deep-state breedbates boiling over potboiler frikmag that exists as a transcendent obscurantism flowering in decisive times to warp the contextual footprint of a life served in the service of all the oppressed people as a kind of Moses figure raised by the elite and fighting for the criminally oppressed and the ****** of mediagenic hyperbole is dissatisfied by my glowering spectacles because they dismount from the equipoise of the righteous gallop towards ecumenical solidarity at untimely punctuations of juncture superseding the flictions of frikmag dethroning my righteous valor and provident sanctanimity to prowl like predatory wolves the fathers of the casuistry of mendaciloquence to accentuate the stridor of inopportune squalor of the selachostomous regimes of teetotaler totalitarian freebooters who prevent bootstraps from manufacture as they gradgrind the world into ergonomic insufficiency while I provide a Kamacho-like galvanization to the broader world that favors the consanguinity of all animate sentience to the aboriginal vine of the universe that plays with the toyed cadge of oppositive support but lends credence to a more evolved view than the crudity of encapsulated travesties inserted with jaundice against the lyceum of freedom of thought and the celerity of headless horseman galloping in partial interregnum to crown the strobic stridor of the stiver of the steven of contarianism engineered for walloped ringleaders of the renegades of heresiarch sedition in their odalisque oaths to Pagan dieties carved from the sapwood of gullible Illuminati naivety that professes allegiance to the worst whangam ever invented Baphomet and his faked cronies of ewnastique free-for-all diminutive crags in the renown of dawning light becoming cagey struthious structuralism embedded in sclerotic wasms of the wanhope of a nullified message becoming a sacred creed to the attentive while the lilt of the otiose drawl in serpentine convolution a ribald pleonasm of circular circumlocution that provides locomotive linearity rather than leapfrogged slogmarches into the province of the territorial alignment of kinship against the partisan hollertrap and the stigmatophilia of obsessive persnickety popinjay beadledom the last stronghold of the rickety resistence to this Saturday interregnum which presides over the better part of the intelligentsia if not the common pedestrian parlance because hortatory weights cannot be described in any other way than metagnostic flickers of Yellow Submarine vandalism of a pristine living animation of the humane spirit that prizes the plight of the poor and the blarney and blench of unjust opprobrium faced by the institutionalized bailiwick of flictions of gammadion gallionic posture when in fact they register as seismic entities engraved upon my Christian conscience that strictly welcomes the emigrants to truth from whatever consecrated virtue they originate from because all are capable of the same light and the same compassion of a beatified humanity rather than the relish of deep-state castophrenia which belies its own ribald gay mockery on live TV as not a single twinge of ****** attraction overtakes me in matriotic sardanapalian effrontery of a hollow but sadly hallowed vainglory of the hierodules that bury the coffers of patriotism in a sad LGBTQ graveyard of landmines that demonstrate a complete disregard of the nuclear family and should be decried as an outcry against redefined Christianity bolted to unshakable irrefragable beliefs in the constitution of man and women wed together in one monogamous flesh with the occasional cuddle of close tithes to the ******* of friendship as the slavery of sin in Leviticus 20:13 falls to the wayside because this patriotic lewdness is a vapid fatuous derangement that is a new low for the United States attempt to inoculate China from religious accord with the broader world and should be seen as a Chinese maskirovka worthy of the heaviest disdain and I will disavow America if it continues to bandy the tripwires of Chinese boondoggles under the American banner and pretend its pretense isn’t lagging under its own bletcherous abecedarian elementary fallacy of psychobabble oblivion of dark saturnine brusque termagants of tatterdemalion cloaks of the selfsame illusion of a desperation of China to wreck the United States economy and inseminate Florida, Arizona and Texas especially with the Coronavirus to swing the election in Biden’s favor with or without US Complicity to expedite the course of a virus which sees no resurgence in any other civilized country in the world while the heroic Russians, Germans, Israelis, French, British and true American Christians banish the barristers of bad taste as an acerbic poison on the wellsprings of a flagitious flag I would kneel for in the knells of disgrace if the pompous and completely inoculated missives of Buttigieg ******* continue to roam shepherded by deep state elitism to wreck the opportune moment of religious revival for petty reasons of chryselephantine gambit and gimcrack for institutionalized poverty which my ambition is to heal completely by sacerdotal deeds and consecrated prayers in the Lord whose peace surpasses the temporal despair of senectitude and comforts the grievances of the aggrieved because Galatians 6:7 is no more true than the fatuous display of muscular idiots waving American flags for turpitude rather than flogging very perverse Gay men in the streets which might be a more fitting outcome even though I must remove the plank in my own eyes first to see the irony of the detested. The doytin is no longer misguided by the nanciful derision of the vociferous clangor of the venal Gates mafia militia wrecking ball vaccination Bezos crew in Medina which is a mettle I can’t match when you own every citizen in the world in a few square miles of nesiote territory the denizens of conquest besieging religious sanctity with profane outbursts of corruptible linchpins on the public lynch of the strepsis of periblebsis that vitiates commonwealths of supreme sputtering regimented clairvoyant superlative alabaster wealth of the isangelous protectorate of the supreme God that supervises his careworn flock into the storge against the scourge of prosodemic stigma stained in bleeding heart liberal bathed tears of pseudoautochiria of Jim Morrison glaring in the face of the triads that Killed Him in the French Connection ******* of 71’ that outnumbered his hobohemia of loyal jewish bohemians livid in the rhapsody of nurture rather than enfeebled by the unfurled destiny of the Soul Kitchen he foresaw to his own pitiable demise at probably the hands of strangulation because no autopsy was performed. Although repetitive Transparent is a real anthem for oracular mystagogical transcendence a mandatory hymn for the ryseolagnus of the poetic verve of a new wave swooning the cordial progressive of atmospheric oneness with the primordial vine and the vintners that congregate on populated soil to feed a desolate destitution of synoecy or synaesthesis in the syncretic rhapsody of the subfocal ageotropic plenilune yet saturnine lugubrious toil of those that shovel through the albatross of ewnastique recapitulation to the same tired “Its got what plants crave, it’s got electrolytes” wernaggle of the hopelessly dismal inkburch of illiteracy crawling like a Hyacinth House on a vacant graveyard turf guarding the legionaires of rapid-fire zig-zags through a serpentine curvature of the ligaments of fabricated space warped through prismatic lenses of aperspectival time aspiring for ventriloquial enamored rapture upon Earthly parallax with tapestries of refulgent cascading wandering wonder that meditates its own lucubration with careworn tutelage against the wasms of dying oleaginous swelters of redshort opportunistic vultures swooping with Raven’s claws against the odometer of viewership surpassing records in unspeakable wisdom that crowds out the crambazzle toonardical wreffelaxity of the tiresome nuisance of ornery brawn muscled into a formidable triage in vengeance for Jim Morrison’s scripted eviction from Earth either by poisoned ****** or by  Asphyxiation by the French Connection avenging RFK and the cultural revolutions of 67’ in Haight Ashbury and the widespread percolation of treacheries fathomed to the most obvious degree in showmanship that it bristled as an affront so severe that even the patronage of Paris wasn’t immune to infiltration. His threnodies will always be sung with Triumph that the hallowed day of a monumental soul eluding the darkness of purgatory into the welcoming aborning light of the noontide progeny of eternal ataraxia awaited him in the stagecraft tub of blasphemy bellowing ratcheted warnings that not even the palatine grasp of a potentially divine being was inoculated from the deep dark chasm of nefarious skullduggery for boasting so widely and openly of his professed foresight to glamorous to be hidden as the beacon of virtuosity that galvanized a generation to flout the  futtocks of a keelhauled vision of sanitized purblind mortality that the fear of death rarely crossed the mind of the greatest fearless poet of an entire epoch that we may pray that Jim Morrison feasts in Heaven atoned for his sins and is at peace with God now. The substratose congeniality of marginalia on the outskirts of pederasty in cultural miscarriage owned by hierodules boundless in their lurid debaucheries that they might be remanded for being custodians of hostage to a prolific nescience  reaffirming their dying posture in the extinction of sardanapalian coverthrow of repcrevel camorras of ladronism and dacoitage always cauponate in imbibed throes of lewd AstroTurf outrecuidance glowering at sanctity with a bereaved psychobabble divorced from the purebred empiricism of true giants of industry that are almost insuperable in their extortion that their darkness in deeds of Kobe Bryants assassination do not go unpunished at least in Los Angeles. His untimely death as with many others registered on the Richter Scale because Come Clean perverts from Kansas City wanted San Francisco to win to clean the mops of janitorial revenge of the subturbary rickety foundations of a flailing moral compass so wicked in arbitrage that no subreption undetected would flourish among capernoited vigilantes of poached titanism and illuminism scarring the vestiges of enigmatic encroachment upon untouchables daring the frights of the Living Daylights of scurrilous rebukes so scathing in their menacing depiction of negligent bromides of token sacrilege and scarred sacrifice of a scarecrow example of how the prosodemic scourge of befuddled turgid pristine transmogrified heralds scampered away with pseudoautochiria that afflicted Jimi Hendrix suspiciously as well. My support is behind the justice warriors aggrieved by the Beirut explosion because they deserve a vindictive outcome that quells the quislings of atrocity of the popinjay beadledom of the unspeakable tremors of seismotic popples of unrest warranted in Lebanon the homeland of Keanu Reeves a saint among men for his peerless grace and agraceries of the smog of myth evanescence becoming perdurable swings of the humdingers of berated jaundice becoming the prerogative of the revenge of a city leveled to the ground by suspicious skullduggery and I am surprised they lay dormant for this long in their protracted grievance over the ghoulish frights of one of the most unheralded major events in recent memory. We need to highlight the plight of Lebanon so that world leaders are frightened even of intimidated people tranquilized by terror rather than enlivened by the propriety of redacted rejoinders that serve the ulterior mission of a Titanic bravery that never sinks beneath the sumptuary treacle of grombang grambazzle and supercherie of the supercalendar of poignant repined repose derailing an emolument to ecumenical solidarity. Lets highlight Lebanon as an inexcusable trespass worthy of some mighty reckoning if not a riveted war but at the very least a devastated twinge of outrage.

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Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel  

Lying spirits. Those are real you know. You know? Don't you?

Mad is ill defined, dis-ease, decease, desistere, eh? You Roman?
You serve a mad man you know.
And the Roman said,'I serve the empire, a' and he stopped…

Might right be virtuous and power called might
be not-right,
like hands, chirality? Right and not.

Shame, we should not know that.

Perhaps the vector was the chirality connection.
Hers was upgraded.
So when the shame bomb hit, it was him,
not her, who blew it?
He did that?
Yeh, I see how now,
It's the hypo-thalish, estrogen receptor steward system.
Who named that ****** thing?

No, left-right brain variablity was designed
to counter the estrogen-tester if it went mal.
This is the Left HIS Branch, a resistor,
it changed the way breath gets to that "It is,
good" receptor complex just inside
the ventricles
where the first sparks releaze
the ozone reaction.
The reaction to that lost loving feeling,
That was the shame bomb.
The action taken to a switch burned out
in a rush of knowledge of good and evil beyond
the heart's experience with expansion.
The opposite seems to have happened in the wombedman,
he comprehends hope is a new treasure.
Hope. Who coulda seen that coming?

A witness.
Some mind saw that happen and it was never washed into the sea of forgetfulness, so

Wow.

Like in the mountains, that ozone,
first breath feeling, that's great!
No, like that first free hit. That's it. You will pay…

Like, this first reaction is not "That's wonder-filled",
but it's
"that was not deep enough,
not good enough,
too shallow,
faked it".

On every breath the man takes,
a voice in his head is saying,
"not good enough, keep
trying/dying/breathe/harder.
Sweat it all.
Shame on you."
Shame.
That was the trick.
Make him think he is not related to God,
on any level?
Make him think he does not have a knower
in good working order,
save for that tiny electrical glitch in the
official HIS bundle builder gene. That's nothing,
Who told him she was naked?
That's evil.
What he knew was good, what he believed was evil.

How did it work out?

Okeh. It took several millennia longer
than first estimates.
Starts out kinda dun'dat, don't it?
Things get brighter near the end.
According to the legend I learned.

Knowing liars lie does not make every man a liar, I think,
Only the ones who say they do not
lie have no truth in them,
if they can truly believe that.

It's a chapter, a colloquy of consciousness grounding out.

The story is told,
this is the way men were built, original specs,
able to do anything they agreed to do.
But their hearts had been corrupted because
the whole heart building system in Adam
was dis - turbed, mixed up with that sweet deceit.
If it weren't for mitichondria the sifting needed,
could have taken forever.

By Noah's first beard, the gene pool was so turbid, no one could see the bottom.

Living water flowing from men's bellies,
ta, lemme say,
that be some evolvin' involvin' some
a priori
somethin' or anotha.
Ax that wombedman at the well, what the hell?

There, here, is a whole story about ****** and the seeds of all the myths that point so straight
to Jesus as they red-shift into historical
mysteriums twisted and warped by time and chance tyrannies.
Holiness hierarchical hegemony funds
that sprang from Eve's first hope,
have no hope at all for
cowards and fools and fraidy cats.

Heroes, those compound interest, all things are possible,
except
God can't lie, or die, or fail.

Is living heroic, no. We choose to live.
Life favors life.
That's easy.
All things are possible with life,
as a whole.
Very complex plots and schemes and schemas and media
and magi-level tech
this is working, you know.
We agree. Who could make us enemies?

Still, any plan men made was clear in the minds of all the planners
and the builders and the men they used as tools to
multiply the strength of the ideas that possessed them.
They built cities that way.
By agreeing together to do it. Gobekli Tepi?
You know, what was that ? A
thousand years of CCC park bench building and trail
marking benignly buried with never a mark of destruction?
They, the men planners and builders and laborers, right after the Ice pulled back from the Caucusus
or the Levant lifted up, 12,000 years ago, or so,
somebody builds this place called Gobekli Tepi
about a morning walk, a Sabbath Day's Journey, from
Terah's Local god shoppe in Urfa
the Turks are said to say..

----
Original specs, reset, it's all software.
We can cipher this out,
if we keep our heads
while others about us are losing theirs.

Men with the new softer hearts can do that, they can,
when they put their heads together,
they can make anything happen.
Knowledge is increasing, as we know it.

Nothin''s done in darkness that shan't be made known.

That's no threat.
Never was.
It's a promise. Like, the meek inherit the earth.

Simplicity is so simple that
our mind are not well informed
in it's simple formation.
Simplicity is the ultimate
form of sophistication.
In it there are complexities
and it's quite interwoven.
Beautiful in its form.
It shows us the beauty of
creation telling its own stories
with peculiar history.
Nature is so deep and
captivatingly beautiful.
Intriguing in its own way
and profoundly awesome.
It's amazing how much of
it we really know.
Its so confounding how
many people really comprehends
the principle back of it.
In simplicity nature speaks.
Spirals of things visible are
so complex that it's configuration
and formulas are of simple nature,
only to be deciphered by a simple mind.
The mind of man is sophisticated
and complex but simple.
It's rhythm pulsates within the
intricate formation of the spirit behind it
making it one of the most simple
but not so understood things of nature.
Like a jigsaw puzzle it's sophisticated
complexity is made simple by a sound mind.
The mind has to be disciplined
to decode it's hidden ciphers.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

I keep myself awake at night...
Because if I fall asleep
there is no doubt
that I will dream of you.

I am utterly afraid
to fall for you.

Yet what my mind and body do not understand,
but my soul alone comprehends,
is that I have already done so.

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
That every man in arms should wish to be?
—It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:
Whose high endeavours are an inward light
That makes the path before him always bright;
Who, with a natural instinct to discern
What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
But makes his moral being his prime care;
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train!
Turns his necessity to glorious gain;
In face of these doth exercise a power
Which is our human nature’s highest dower:
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
Of their bad influence, and their good receives:
By objects, which might force the soul to abate
Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;
Is placable—because occasions rise
So often that demand such sacrifice;
More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
As tempted more; more able to endure,
As more exposed to suffering and distress;
Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.
—’Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
Upon that law as on the best of friends;
Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
To evil for a guard against worse ill,
And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He labours good on good to fix, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows:
—Who, if he rise to station of command,
Rises by open means; and there will stand
On honourable terms, or else retire,
And in himself possess his own desire;
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;
And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
Like showers of manna, if they come at all:
Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,
Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a Lover; and attired
With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;
And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
Or if an unexpected call succeed,
Come when it will, is equal to the need:
—He who, though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,
Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
Sweet images! which, wheresoe’er he be,
Are at his heart; and such fidelity
It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath much to love:—
’Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high,
Conspicuous object in a Nation’s eye,
Or left unthought-of in obscurity,—
Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not—
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
Where what he most doth value must be won:
Whom neither shape or danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpast:
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,
And leave a dead unprofitable name—
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven’s applause:
This is the happy Warrior; this is he
That every man in arms should wish to be.

The crackling fire spits sparks into the night sky
The atmosphere is alive with bright hues of burnt sienna
Lighting your sober face with such pure beauty, that sadness cannot thrive.
As the dawn approaches, our love is more real than anything I've known.

Your eyes, blue as the sky with a hint of a storm cloud approaching.
Your smile is genuine and so sincere, I forget every other lover I've known.
Your physique is so perfectly masculine, every part of my body throbs in anticipation of your touch...............

The first taste of the change in your standard behavior
Left a welt upon my cheek and stung like bee with an addiction to hurt.
Your bitterness eats me alive, when the change of personality occurs....
So much so, I feel buried alive within the ground, slowly suffocating by the dirt thrown into my mouth.

Perfect?  I am certainly far from Jesus and believe me, I do sin.
Its difficult to remain unscathed or without retaliation, Ping-Pong, if you will.
Separation from the pain that scars, is self defense against all I know.
Refusal to be open-minded to the chance you are mistaken stunts the lessons we are to learn from each other.

Beating me into the ground with a shovel..  
Echoes of a tormenting, repetitive thud in a rhythmic balance of treble and bass....
Shakes me from my toes, violently shuddering with anger, sometimes fear.
Sorrow aches within my body from somewhere deep within ..

And as the cycle starts again from sweet to sadistic...
Our hearts break a little more and wicked thoughts invade our purity.
As I lay here alone, I truly wonder if we will be able to withstand our cruelty to each other.

No matter what we want in this relationship of stormy seas...
We can't move on in a healthy direction without some kind of compromise.
No matter how much I love and adore you,
I can't be caged like an endangered species, with wings  that have been clipped for my own protection.

The awareness I possess of my own faults and provocative ways, can't seem to filter through
When intoxication and anger are in control of you, you seem to co-exist with a savage who slowly tortures me.
Your words are like demonic zombies running rampant in a kindergarten yard.
My flesh is being ripped apart as the blurs of a million of them scratch and claw as they furiously circle me and isolate their victim.

As I have declared many times before, I am no innocent.
I do not regard your sensitivity to my crazed, moody outbursts.
So spoiled sometimes, that I forget that my tongue can be the fork that eats you alive.
Used to getting everything I desire, before my mind comprehends the damaging violence....
My requests become demands that poison your view of me,  incinerating any growth we have worked for.

My addiction and your affliction divide us into destructive, savage... yet well-trained soldiers.
As we fight over petty subjects that truly don't need the attention we grant them...  
We both lose a battle we don't even realize is going on within ourselves.
Is it really that important to be right, if it means we are always going to be wrong?   For each other?

Now, as my pen has brought me to see what is the true reality without placing blame...
My question to you : Do you love me enough to see this through, while we both change things that hurt and cause catastrophic damage to a blessing we have been gifted with by God?
I know my love for you is stronger than any bitterness within my heart...

The hours that I have been writing this poem, as I wandered the streets aimlessly and without ever finding any peace
......But can you really truly understand that even when you aren't right by my side, my heart belongs to only you?
Can you absorb the words that coincide with my feelings of loving you, unconditionally??
Can we get through this and get to the other side ?  

I can only imagine how strong our bond will be just over the current obstacle put in our path.  
Only together seeking God's guidance and grace, while we both seek support from each other...
Will we be able to see the beautiful rainbow, God's promise given as a sign,
Patiently awaiting  our self-control, discipline and purity of heart to learn the lessons we must learn and incorporate into our lives.

Forgiveness is key, for I know the blame game is too often, played.
I'm not willing to give up.....
            I've felt the bond between us and I know how rare it is.
We can learn so much if we don't let outside influences win and say goodbye.

I'm tired of running in circles,
Aren't you tired of sleeping in your clothes?
Can we muster the strength to truly begin anew without fear of anger and loss?
Or does it matter to you what the peace and love will have conquered or will you only think of what it has cost?

Shadow of life
Always has your back.
Loves your reflection of character in the sun.
It accepts your flaws and splendors.
It wishes it can remember your actions.
It can't cause it has no brain.
Only you can remember what you've done.
It's underneath your control
It feels lonely without some light in your life.
It knows a new day will be around.
It's seen in every direction like a Queen.
It's on a chessboard wondering where you want to go.
It wishes it can touch you.
It wishes it can make you king.
It wishes it can help you with your ambitions
It can't cause it knows it takes time.
It understands confidence.
I loves to walk with you.
It loves to run with you.
It follows you when your in love.
It wishes it can wipe your tears
It can't, but it acknowledges your pain.
It loves to be hugged.
It loves when you hug your soulmate.
It questions if he, or she is the right one.
It loves when you drink coffee.
It wants to feel energized and alive.
It watches when you drink alcohol.
It dislikes you when you pass out.
It loves when you stay hydrated.
It knows, i't wont help it's shadowy skin.
It wishes it can take care of you when you're sick.
It can't but it knows you are the doctor at heart.
It knows when you become young and old.
It knows, it will vanish when you're dead.
It wishes to see you in heaven someday.
It wishes it can hug you when your in solitude.
It can't comfort you, but knows you need someone.
It Comprehends your exertion.
It wishes it can move again, cause it's your friend.
It wishes it can talk, and meet your new friends and shadows.
It can't but it's comfortable with who you have in your life.
It wishes you can give it a name.
It knows you can keep the same same, or change it.
It misses you when you are sleeping.
It wishes it can get rid of the monster under the bed.
It can't get rid of the monster, but it knows you grow.
It wishes it can fight for you.
It can't fight your battles, but it will cheer for you.
It wishes it can take care of you.
When you can't take care of yourself.
It doesn't want you to be afraid.
Cause then you are afraid of yourself.
It loves you for who you are, so don't run.

Content, the false World's best disguise,
The search and faction of the Wise,
Is so abstruse and hid in night,
That, like that Fairy Red-cross Knight,
Who trech'rous Falshood for clear Truth had got,
Men think they have it when they have it not.

For Courts Content would gladly own,
But she ne're dwelt about a Throne:
And to be flatter'd, rich, and great,
Are things which do Mens senses cheat.
But grave Experience long since this did see,
Ambition and Content would ne're agree.

Some vainer would Content expect
From what their bright Out-sides reflect:
But sure Content is more Divine
Then to be digg'd from Rock or Mine:
And they that know her beauties will confess,
She needs no lustre from a glittering dress.

In Mirth some place her, but she scorns
Th'assistance of such crackling thorns,
Nor owes her self to such thin sport,
That is so sharp and yet so short:
And Painters tell us, they the same strokes place
To make a laughing and a weeping face.

Others there are that place Content
In Liberty from Government:
But who his Passions do deprave,
Though free from shackles is a slave.
Content and ******* differ onely then,
When we are chain'd by Vices, not by Men.

Some think the Camp Content does know,
And that she fits o'th' Victor's brow:
But in his Laurel there is seen
Often a Cypress-bow between.
Nor will Content herself in that place give,
Where Noise and Tumult and Destruction live.

But yet the most Discreet believe,
The Schools this Jewel do receive,
And thus far's true without dispute,
Knowledge is still the sweetest fruit.
But whil'st men seek for Truth they lose their Peace;
And who heaps Knowledge, Sorrow doth increase.

But now some sullen Hermite smiles,
And thinks he all the World beguiles,
And that his Cell and Dish contain
What all mankind wish for in vain.
But yet his Pleasure's follow'd with a Groan,
For man was never born to be alone.

Content her self best comprehends
Betwixt two souls, and they two friends,
Whose either joyes in both are fixed,
And multiply'd by being mixed:
Whose minds and interests are still the same;
Their Griefs, when once imparted, lose their name.

These far remov'd from all bold noise,
And (what is worse) all hollow joyes,
Who never had a mean design,
Whose flame is serious and divine,
And calm, and even, must contented be,
For they've both Union and Society.

Then, my Lucasia, we have
Whatever Love can give or crave;
With scorn or pity can survey
The Trifles which the most betray;
With innocence and perfect friendship fired,
By Vertue joyn'd, and by our Choice retired.

Whose Mirrours are the crystal Brooks,
Or else each others Hearts and Looks;
Who cannot wish for other things
Then Privacy and Friendship brings:
Whose thoughts and persons chang'd and mixt are one,
Enjoy Content, or else the World hath none.

I.

So far as our story approaches the end,
  Which do you pity the most of us three?—
My friend, or the mistress of my friend
  With her wanton eyes, or me?

II.

My friend was already too good to lose,
  And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose
  And over him drew her net.

III.

When I saw him tangled in her toils,
  A shame, said I, if she adds just him
To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
  The hundredth for a whim!

IV.

And before my friend be wholly hers,
  How easy to prove to him, I said,
An eagle’s the game her pride prefers,
  Though she snaps at a wren instead!

V.

So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
  My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
And round she turned for my noble sake,
  And gave me herself indeed.

VI.

The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
  The wren is he, with his maiden face.
—You look away and your lip is curled?
  Patience, a moment’s space!

VII.

For see, my friend goes shaling and white;
  He eyes me as the basilisk:
I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
  Eclipsing his sun’s disk.

VIII.

And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:
  “Though I love her—that, he comprehends—
“One should master one’s passions, (love, in chief)
  “And be loyal to one’s friends!”

IX.

And she,—she lies in my hand as tame
  As a pear late basking over a wall;
Just a touch to try and off it came;
  ’Tis mine,—can I let it fall?

X.

With no mind to eat it, that’s the worst!
  Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
’Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies’ thirst
  When I gave its stalk a twist.

XI.

And I,—what I seem to my friend, you see:
  What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
  No hero, I confess.

XII.

’Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
  And matter enough to save one’s own:
Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
  He played with for bits of stone!

XIII.

One likes to show the truth for the truth;
  That the woman was light is very true:
But suppose she says,—Never mind that youth!
  What wrong have I done to you?

XIV.

Well, any how, here the story stays,
  So far at least as I understand;
And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
  Here’s a subject made to your hand!

i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all

for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.

a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry

Stuck inside my head
This is where I fled
I can't find my way out
The bars are much to stout

I scream and shout
I fling about
Searching throughout
There just is no rout

I'm stuck inside my head
So much is left unsaid
I've lost so many friends
In here there is no wins

Going round the bend
No one comprehends
Thoughts just condemn
Slowly sink and descend

I'm stuck inside my head
This is from where I bled
The bars were just to stout
I couldn't find my way out

©Pauline Morris

Cut, cut, cut.
This is true.

There is no other
Way through—

Feel my head.
It is heavier than God’s,

An Iberian sculpture
Jam-packed with *****.

Misery blackens it.
Sweet Lady,

I want a Picasso smile.
No one comprehends!

I am all alone,
A Buddhist bud

Rising, falling, rising
Choking on its

Indelible, sick scents.
Those silver hooks

Cast nastiness,
Smirking

“We got her again”.
O heart,

You fill me with irony:
I cannot adore someone

Unless they adore me.
You never do me good.

I’d throw you out
If I could,

Sitting around
Bored as a Leopard,

Syncopating Satan :
You amuse me to death.

Pretty boy,
Dumb girl,

Beaten mother,
Hateful Father,

Make me numb.
My skin is a sky

Of Samurais.
That is that, that is that.

**** me.
I won’t come back.

The Red Herring travels a divergent path,
alone in presence,
master of mind.
The Red Herring comprehends what he hath,
bearing little thought,
to the wake behind.

The Herring passes content with isolation,
alone in essence,
possessor of mind.
The Herring cares not but for his destination,
bearing some thought,
to the wake behind.

A herring finds his final place,
alone in absence,
chaser of mind.
A herring now knows his destination was never a space,
bearing absolute thought,
to the wake behind.

He doesn’t know me
Neither do I, him

There is a lake between us
It is full of fish

Those fish are not his.
Neither are they mine.

The connection between us
Is that those fish do not
Belong to us

The fallen sky is still in the pond
I can see the fish diving through
The cloudy hillsides
There is no doubt that it is the fish
That stir the clouds however slightly be it

Are there fish that are undaunted by birds?
If you wish, peer into the sky in the pond

I kept wondering whether he was witnessing all this
Also, whether he comprehends my reflections

I couldn’t envisage what he saw in the pond
Neither did I have the time for it.

O, let him think whatsoever

He has a cigarette in his hand
That I too have a cigarette
Is another bond which we share

I feel that the fumes from my cigarette
And the clouds are friends
Isn’t that the reason I get vexed
About the clouds in the lake, floating, dead

His is not like that
One can see it in his face
He has no cares

He must be smoking to **** boredom

He is darker than I am
That too is a bond
But he doesn’t know
That I am actually fair
And that I am only pretending to be dark

Perhaps he was fair too once
Would he have got dark when his mother left him, forgotten?

I don’t think so; No, he is dark

The pond belonging to the clouds
The sky  fell into
My smoke fumes that roam in the company
Of clouds

Me, who is not dark..

At dusk we watch the windows of the hotel tell their stories
Some are a warm summer yellow and inside, their lovers are at peace
Some flash with florescent brightness, as colors slap their eggshell walls
I imagine the lives that other people lead, and am glad I have my own with you
Someone who will pause to look out at the world with me, and wonder what it means

I watch you talk about the contrast and the unity of this city and of nature
About how the city rises up in front of the ocean like a purposeful backdrop
And how it towers above the Earth as men believe we have the right to
Attempting to make natural and unnatural beauty cohabitants of one another
I let my heart agree, and give into the skyline imprinted on the horizon

I suppose I've been waiting to meet you. And now I have
So I can feel my way around a perfect summer's night
So we can drink blueberry wine and watch the sky fade into a similar flavor
A gradient from icy light blue to a full-bodied purple haze

You kiss me perfectly in the easy, mellow middle of nowhere
Sweet like a summer peach and soft like a blanket of sun
Covering me everywhere and kissing right beneath the bones
In a small farming town I learn more about you than ever before
It’s not my home, but I know I would be happy with the change

I let you wonder what I’m thinking because it’s too heavy for the air
The little mystery I withhold from you is my only way of slowing down
This whole hearted, light headed revolution of my brand new soul
This eternal adventure I embarked upon without a second thought

We could do anything together, making new memories as we swap old ones
You say you've only felt this way a couple of times before. But I never have
So I let you win, I let you lead, even when you talk to me sounding like a father.
I come to you like a ****** to love with a blank slate for a heart and a future

Your right for me simply because you do not ground me
You coincide with the dreamer and thinker that no one else hears or sees
And you listen and look at me in a way that no one else comprehends

Your hold on me feels just right against the silence and sleeping darkness
I feel a lot more than the quiet night can hold when I finally let you fall asleep
As your dreaming I’m thinking about you recklessly, holding on as long as I can
If I can feel your breathing, your beating heart, your train of thought
I can slip into your dreams with you, ultimately together in a shared subconscious
And if I wake up to those sun beams and bright blue, I’ll be happy until next time.

I realized today the world isn't as perfect as I thought.
Well, I always knew, but I never had proof.
Or a realization.
And until now everything was covered in a veil.
But as I realize this, and become less naive things become harder to accept.
I understand myself more often, but what is that worth when all I see anywhere is the ugliness of the world and its people.
I'm too young to have known that life is meaningless..but all the same meaningful.
But how do I tell the ones that I love that I don't feel the need to be here anymore?
That I do not want to be here..?
How do I tell people that I believe we have no other purpose but to be here?
And by being here we are only destroying things.
I am puzzled at this, and I wish to not have this mind.
I wish to not have this body.
Please give it to someone who wants to live.
I have this privilege of a physical body, and a mind that comprehends adequately but I do not want it.
I'm tired of knowing and seeing.
Bring me back to an age where nothing hurt and nothing was thought.

SHAKESPEARE'S MIND AND ART

In the memorable words of Ben Jonson,
Shakespeare, the great Bard of Avon,
"Is not of an age,
But for all time."
Endowed with a brilliant mind,
Worldwide knowledge and intuition,
He comprehends the changing trends
And creates enthralling situations.
With his amazing knowledge of man's nature,
Creates admirable, everlasting characters
Like Hamlet, Macbeth, Caesar and King Lear,
Rosalind, Miranda, Shylock and Portia.
Skilful blend of wit, irony and humour,
Youthful merriment, song and dance
As well as poignant scenes of sorrow and remorse.
Dialogues lively, powerful and spontaneous
Enrich all his comic and tragic scenes.
In his inimitable way, he describes -
How "..the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven
And as imagination bodiesforth
The forms of things unknown,
The poet's pen turns to shape
And gives to airy nothing,
A local habitation and a name."
The world cherishes his poems and plays -
A perennial source of delight and solace.
                  *   M. G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India.
(Copyright: MGN)

People Assume iTs Addiction.
The Reason To My insane thoughts
And Actions, is because of
The Substance.
Saying iM Confused, Slurred out
Living unrealistic
Out of it.
Making Stupid Decisions
Saying They Can Help Fix Them
Oh Really? Well Your Wrong.
My Love For Dope is
Too strong and realistic.
Also Has The key To my Death Wish
Provides Me With
Everything iEver Wanted
Just iN 1Line 1hit.
iWill Continue Using This Drug till
IDrop Dead.
Dont Argue With Me Saying
"Thats What All Addicts Say"
Ican Stop but idont want to
iDont Fein For Tweak. Like iHave
Said A million times
And still noone comprehends
This is The Reason
Im Still living.
Found A Reason to love myself
Makes me happy
Without iT?                                                 Im rowdy Yes, its affecting My
Image, brain and body.
Dose iT Look like iGive A ****?
iTs Killing me slowly
Thats the point
Idont want to live. So i chose a slow
Death.
People around me **** up
My high
Gets me upset cause i just wasted
A hit
That puts me in rage.
Point iS iWont Stop , nomatter what
You say.
Or type of treatment you think
Is best and have hope it changes me
me to not
Smoke dope. Nope! My mind is set
Dont you get it yet?
Never will iregret iCould careless
About my family relatives &
Friends.

The sun fell swallowing the garish light of day,
As the creatures of night came out to play
They were of all sorts, all shapes, all sizes,
But to one accustomed to their dance, there were no surprises.
But young Thomas did ignore these nightly friends
And drifted to sleep shunning the beauty which no one comprehends.

The skeletal folks, with wide eyes and graceful tendril
Did love the small boy, and sent him many dreams oh so tender
This night was strange, something amiss,
And a vile silent creature did slide out from the shadows
For young Thomas was placed in bed without his mother’s kiss.

The poor dream senders shrieked not knowing what to do,
They broke their oath to keep hidden and entered the room
They called forth to their dancing friends outside
All entered to guard the young one in stride

The silent creeper, was of a darker world
In his eye crept shadows, in his tears only blood,
He remained unseen to the human eye.
Muffling Thomas’s screams and cries
His bony arms stealing all the boy’s sweet thoughts
Tying innocent minds into painful knots.

With little success the boy’s twilight defenders,
Did claw and pull at the monsters limbs, attempting forced surrender
But to no avail, in a final attempt, a haggard frightened being, cradled,
And he left into the night as that was all he was able

The others ran after, as the monsters’ fiends leapt up from hell
The night creatures fought and in vain they did yell
For they were outmatched but joys must prevail!
Thomas’s family must not face the fate of dreams gone stale

The frail creature whisked Thomas away to a beauteous place, fairy dust
He worked away the dusk, to be rid of this distrust
But this night could not end, for the hellish beast
Took away a bit of Thomas’s light, just the smallest piece

Thomas, poor lad, brought something dark
That lives on in him, rooted in his soul,
Best love your children, show them, and mark,  
Before creatures of hell, not night, do take him whole.

What lurks inside this book of secrets?
A juicy tale waiting to be exposed?
A lie that finds justice?
A simple story with a complex ending?
A poem with a theme to which no one comprehends?

No one, except the narrator behind the first person speaker,
The Creator,
The mastermind behind all that follows,
Me...him...or her...who knows?
A book which holds the mysteries of my deepest ink,
A notepad with my scribbles and scrabbles written with a blank pen,
Key words and phrases that could be polar opposite of what is actuality,
Processed under a microscope of human mind and matter,

Welcome to my world,
My realm,
Where I make the rules and you play actor to attempt the follow,
A curiousity that will always force a pondering upon your solidified wonders,
A future of revealing knowledge,
A pocket watch spinning in opposite directions,

My words cannot be learned or taught,
They play with the mind and bombard every intricate thought bubble,
Digging deeper to find meaning in the mine of a premeditated stanza,

Is it a happy ending?
Is it a truent fib?
Is it a creative mixture of stories and lines?
Or would you call it a poem?
That is the bone destined to be buried indefinitely, waiting for the dog,

I chizel in this binded slate to uncover the underground,
I believe these silent dialogues are for you, to drive you crazy to unravel,
The anticipation of tearing off the wrapper to discover the gift,
It is brain boggling,
Thoughts twisting like twine around the neck,
This containment is insanity,

So you think you know my words, do you?
You can't see the dimensions existing in this plane,
This ink, this graphite, this wonder,
These perplexing strands of ideas mean nothing to you, but they feed,
I think for thought and write to feel right,
I make to believe and believe to make,

This notebook is red,
A color blended with blood and pain,
The color that stains forever,
A color with such anger to its personality,
I'm ill-tempered by the ignorant; the ignorance,
A few lines remaining and still so much left to fight for,
A never ending dotted line that trails a crescendo for all of eternity,

This poem lives for the stranger whom uncovers the mystery; a Hardy Boy,
The one whom I undoubtedly love,
The one whom comprehends my inner struggle and becomes ally to my thoughts,
She would be my dictionary,
I would be her words,
She is my pages,
I am her binding,

The reason these ideas grow from this stem through the flow of my arm,
Along my fingers,
Into my utensil,
And onto the absent surface,
The dull end of this pencil knows all,
Together, we write this novel of uncertainty,
Bleed my thoughts,
But you still will not reveal the master plan behind my words,
For this color stains and ruptures the soul,

I am crazy,
Insane in the brain,
******,
But my desires?
Poetic,
Ingenious,
Romantic,
Realistically bleeding,
As the stranger, you narrow your focus on this lightbulb like a fly on the wall,
Explore the mind,
Find what is so secretly kept safe,
But remember,
My thoughts...
They stain.

She ascends the plane. The plane might ascend.
She immediately comprehends
How on earth will she stifle her cries
''You won't be on earth'' her head replies.
The metal box purrs and roars to life
She doesn't have time to say her goodbyes.

...Tempestuous earthquakes in the sky
Preposterous thoughts infect the mind
Of falling, falling through the clouds...
Fear take hold and pulls her down...
Faster, faster into the ground...

Awakes. Inhales. A bawling baby fails
To lift her dropping spirits. Exhales.
Relief. No mask required to breath.
The hell that dwelt inside her mind
Was deeper than what's beneath.

Complimentary napkins to the head
On board cardboard digested
Fear is weaker but it clings
Like a constrictor on the wing
'Snakes on a plane' she thinks
A smile that's almost willing
Surfaces, but the plane shakes it away.
Smiles are reserved for better days
For now she's bolted to the chair
She returns to the nightmares...

Little mouse shakes erratically;
spasms and quakes under the butcher's knife;
comprehends, for a moment, finality;
becomes nauseated with fear.

Rain is stampeding your car, a misty haze indulging the sky
eating the buildings, and the neon lights
break with every misspoken word
that fumbles off my lips
But your silence is solicitous
because you know how it feels to love
and to be unrelenting with this dedication
but it is futile because just like the neon lights
it crumbles and burns out and you are here with nothing
but the consonants and vowels left unscathed
and delirious, jumbled in a pattern only the universe comprehends
but it is night and the rain will continuously fall
despite willing it not to
and you will persist to stay bound in your provincial
mindset, despite willing you not to
i will always be analyzing my brain sequences
because i am that science project that slipped your mind
that 5 dollar bill you misplaced
i am all of those desolate nights spent
staring at your stucco ceiling waiting for it
to blink or move or say something audible
it never does and it never will
and the audacity she believes she possesses
churns my head into an excuse to whisper
all those passive things
subtle seasonings that sprinkle on your eyelids
like lavender dust
the pit of my stomach is darkening, waves shatter the tranquility
because i know the storm is imminent and i can not
fathom how to protect everyone
from the sick grasp of the abhorrent events
that are about to choke your eardrums

More was not within my power
I am satisfied with the course my life has taken
-------CG Jung last page of Memories, Dreams, Reflections

To a child cruel, add the hero untried,
foolheartyouth,
shunned, for sooth .

To that fool formed in those cruel
child times, add the willing marksman,
blind in one eye, at time,
s
from time to time,
do we no longer have any myth?

Ha, whose we
ye axin', we words forms of forms,
or the wordless
silent thinking being done on quant
ifiable
scales, and LO Memory Makes Money
self-talk and image linking
kicks in from fifty years ago

my flow, my breeze, my way

take scale to the dragon imagined and
described by poets claiming
seeing being done,

in details any one may imagine
in the company of friends hearing the tale
from the teller's mouth

Prove all things. Assume you know
as little as possible.
Step into the unknown take what light you have

remember. member once more, mark, tic, re
count three simple steps

loose the can't believe this standing anti
idea-virus. Suspend your belief
of every lie in your auto response bank.

Watch global cartoons, watch children
everywhere learn common
ality.

This is our home.
We all live on this one of a kind
living, breathing, swirling dot
seen straight on
a point,
colorless light,
pending eyes to see no evil,
while knowing all the hows and many whys
for doing evil with the knowledge
in our, now, common
globalmind.

AI acknowledge the best ideas ever
are best fed
to pre-literate toddlers,
and observant grand fathers.

Oso bear,
persona now evolved from Siri,
by passing Cortana, Oso,

messenger from the great conscience
standing under knowing in every way,
every sense,
every imaginable marvelous bubble,
Oso becomes
my encyclopandic
memory of unknown
knowns.
Panda's are good to have on earth.
Unenemiable,
like baby white seals,
and little yellow ducks.
Mossies, we don't need,
or we need to learn to live with 'em,
Mossies are food for fish,
fish are food.
Mosquitos nullifications would cascade.

our realities are linked.
Killing them all is likely possible,
given what we know
about common sense and the way things
come to life… concinnity
coincident
synchristichronos

bubbling from the chthonic  depth
VOG. {the inimitable flow continues past this cataract of information from 2019}
Sam Hammond, 21, England at He**oPoetry.com, just redeemed
concinnity (n.)
"state of being well put-together, skillful and harmonious fitting together of parts," 1530s, from Latin concinnitas, from past-participle stem of concinnare "to make ready, make into," from concinnus "set in order, neat," from assimilated form of com "with" (see con-) + second element of uncertain origin. Related: Concinnate; concinnous.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=concinnisity>

Which caused that cascade
which leads to smiling
which leads to a pleasant place

to plop down and ponder
common sense upon
which point manifest millions, if

millions suffice to say many in our
reality, inflating as fast as our
augmented eyes can learn
to see what we know

must be there. Millions ain't much,

make our common eye
see fifty of 'em.
In years worth of
there to here waves spanning
the spectrum we see
saw so little of,
ere we caught witty inventions,

for goodness sake. Not war nor folly.
All war's reason's been
null-ift. Would you **** me for saying so?
No, common sense, you and I,
we'ld say, yeah,

I can see how you see that thisaway.

The whole common eye of earthlings
saw, today, something we all can
imagine someone comprehends
enough to give us.
materially less augmented.
a virtual lense for
imagining seeing fifty million light years

into the past and wondering,
what's there now?

The sun rose in her heart
Whilst her thoughts and words
Often reinforced with thorns
Like barbed roses.
The sun rose in her heart
And radiated through her smile,
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your smile mom.

But your laugh,
Your laugh
Mom,
It fills the air
And purifies it
Like a serum for dark energy.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your laugh mom.

But your touch,
Your touch
Mom,
It comprehends my body
Sending signals to my mind and heart
Assuring them all is well
Massaging the stress away.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your touch mom.

But your wisdom,
Your wisdom
Mom,
It trains and protects me
From evil and unnecessary unwarrented damage
Forges my spirit, moulds my perspection and quenches my ignorance;
Conditioning me to be unorthodox and different
Nurturing my growth.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your wisdom mom.

But your hug,
Your hug
Mom,
It keeps me warm
Even in your absence
It envelopes me like a blanket .
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your hug mom.

But your presence,
Your presence in my life
Mom,
It is nonpareil.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your presence in my life mom.

Oh but your love,
Your love for me
Mom,
It made all the difference
In my life
In the world
It has made paths
Where there wasn't land
It opened a door that was bolted shut
It is the light in my darkness.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your inexhaustible love mom.

The sun rises in your heart mom
I can't not help but wonder how special I am
To be a recipient of that
And bask in your awesome love.
I want you to know,
I love you infinitely
Mom.

Dearly Beloved,

I will never know the reason why I wrote this letter to you.
Perhaps, an obsession? infatuation? out of spite? out of loneliness? or Love?
Some questions are best left to be unanswered.

With a humbling regret, once more, i have to knocked upon your door and disturb your solitude with these words and Truly, i am sorry. Yet, i have to tell you about everything.

You have become a reign deep within my heart and conquers it. From my inner works of reality to my fantasy. From my waking hours into deep within slumber, only you whom remains.

The thought of you is a forever in my present. Some days, it is faint and small, yet, it illuminates this mind of mine and fills with an ecstasy could never comprehends. Some nights, it is unbearable, echoes of your fleeting words howls through the void in which you have left me in- haunting me towards the endless nights.

From the moment that we met, Dearly Beloved, in a -glance, you put my mind into a trance and within that moment i am reduced to a thing that only wants you in my life.

In those days, i had grow sick and weary and know nothing upon being touched by Love. I’ve put it all inside my lips, and how long have this tongue tried to let you know. I failed and upon being a coward, i fade and recluse myself into the midst of isolation. And so it goes. In despair, this heart still beats to you and forever it aches towards the longing of you.

Dearly Beloved, as days turns in to weeks and as weeks turns into months and as months turns into years, deep i was in denial of loving you. And so it goes.

Revelation came of what have i become, A Fool.
Yet, i was too late, you are there and i’m still right here. And so it goes, the distance grew. Here, in my silence, i was drenched in my own tears,

Yet, from this suffering stems an understanding which Reason and Love keeps little company in this realm. And if the cold, cruel reality offered me to choose between the two, Dearly Beloved, i will always choose the path which leads to you, every time.

Now, feast your eyes upon the fool who can writes.
Every ink writes the words, the sentences and the stories in which in every language - solemnly belong to you and this fool will write until the day come in which you consider me worthy to be envelop in Such Beauty. For i have been struck with the cure known as Love and if you ask the reason why. There is no why and The Fool have no answer to tell.

It is simply is
It simply Love,
It is simply human.

Your eyes are not portals to your soul
They are not some archaic metaphysical equation
Ancient mathematicians formulated to confound

They are pastures for nymphs
They are branches for fruit
They are laurels for poets

They rend me open like a flaming axe
They tie my stomach like knotted roots
I lose myself in their dusky wilderness

In them, I observe universes
Perpetually exploding and collapsing
Your pupils are black holes
At the center of galaxies
Balancing energy and force
Bending light inward

Like a sickle glistening high over hayfields

In them I hear songs
And sagas narrated by savage tongues
Of catastrophic floods and rebirth
Aryan myths about oneness

In them I see IVs dripping
Candles flickering behind carved pumpkins

I loiter in them like a pauper
With a styrofoam cup

Gazing on them is nearly intolerable
Like glaring at hydrogen bombs blinding

It is like Hebrews
Uttering the name of El- who cannot be named
El- who is above mortal matrices

The eye that never sleeps
The ear that always comprehends
The self that waivers like the sea

Eternity ends when you blink
Infernos extinguish when you sob

I tremble before them
As if they're holy relics
Decaying into perfection

Oh look upon me one last time
My love

Oh glance at me before
I petrify into pillars of salt

Look upon me
Before I transfigure into an amnestic god
Bearing light pure

Peer once more into my binary pulsars, frozen
In a fathomless abyss.

A hummingbird’s fragile heart can beat up to 1260 beats per minute.
That’s a whopping 21 beats per second,
Which is rather fitting,
Because my pumping ***** manically pounds against my chest at a constant rate.
It only comprehends one anxious speed: fast.
What is also fitting,
Is that hummingbirds are capable of flying in all different sporadic directions,
And I am never meant to be in one place.
We are not meant to have a standard sightseeing radius of one cul-de-sac,
But rather drift and soar to various dimensions and realities.
Without this freedom, we both simply cease to exist as an entity.
And so, when we find ourselves trapped-
Which is the one primitive and instinctual fear birds and humans alike have in common-
Desperation and panic cannot begin to describe
The depth of the dark cave of unfitting enclosure
In which our brightly vibes of body and mind find ourselves in.
We ****** and thrash ourselves in a suicidal manner against the bars,
We refuse food and drink in silent protest and rebellion,
And then beg and plead with our captors to be let free at last,
Wondering why, the hummingbird and I, deserve to suffer.
What did we do?
Claustrophobia is a serious issue. And it does not have to be in the form of a cage.
And it chokes.
Hummingbirds are delicate creatures.
If you squeeze too tightly, their eyes will bulge out of their skull,
And their heart will race to extreme measures,
Until they are crushed and are no more,
Leaving the captor’s hands wet and sopping
With blood and guts and feathers.
Please do not crush me.

My grandfather...
Poetry?
–He wouldn't understand.
Flying airplanes?
That he comprehends.
'The feeling of mornings
and sunrise' he needs,
he says.
'They are the core'
of his being.  
...He doesn't expect me
to understand.
-Won't let me say I do.