Delicacies of darkness,
Intricacies of energy;
Witches of woe
Insinuating that nothing we pass is past,
As all beginnings were long since begun.

Protecting an abnormality,
That would rather be condemned,
By self-centered ambition of men.
An insanity that turns her right, round again.

Now if now only.
Living by wick and glee of natural ability.
You would come and dare,
Old sentimentality and whimsicality,
Rampart of myths and misconceptions.

To indulge in mischievous play
Under the indigo sky,
By the light of a spiral of far fire.
The journey starts by stealing hearts
If only now you would come I should be happy.

Penelope Cruz
Used to muse
On the use
Of oversized microwave ovens
In the covens
Of Barcelona.

Give them their due
They know how to imbue
Broomsticks with fresh belladonna!

Out in the children’s playground
On the wasteland, near the flat,
There once was a shiny roundabout
They called ‘The Witches Hat’,
It hung from a greasy centre pole
And would spin, just like a top,
For once that we set it spinning
It would take an hour to stop.

They painted the Hat in black shellac
So it gleamed beneath the sun,
But stood like an evil entity, in the dark
When the day was done,
We never ventured abroad by night
For the land, we thought, was cursed,
With the Witches Hat a reminder of
Just what had stood there first.

Once it had been a Magic Wood
With Elves, and Grimms and Ghosts,
Witches covens and Goblins ovens
We heard about the most,
The land was cleared for a new estate
And they called the land a park,
But nights you heard the muffled shuffle
Of dancing, in the dark.

It was then that they set the Witches Hat
Up on a pole to spin,
One of us ran around with it
While others sat on the brim,
We always ran with it clockwise
Then stood back to count the spins,
For Mother Malloy had warned us
Never to turn it widdershins.

She said it would stop the earth, and that
The sun would go back down,
The Prince of Darkness lay in wait
For the Witches Hat, his crown,
We thought that she must be bonkers
And we laughed each time she frowned,
But never would spin the Witches Hat
Not once, the other way round.

But then on an Autumn afternoon
When the nights were coming in,
Mother said, ‘Take your brother out,
Go take him out for a spin.’
She wanted to clean the house, she said,
‘And you’re always in the way!’
So I took young Robin out with me,
He’d just turned four that day.

I put him up on the Witches Hat
And I spun, and spun him round,
But Robin was a querulous child
And he cried, to put him down.
So then in a ******-minded mood
And after a dozen spins,
I stopped the Hat and I turned it round,
And ran with it, widdershins.

It must have been almost dusk by then
For the sun dropped into the ground,
The Moon came up with a silver beam
And it lit the whole surround,
I ran as fast as I’d ever run
And the Hat spun like a top,
Robin sat on the opposite side
So I’d see him, once I’d stop.

I ran until I was out of breath
Then I stopped to watch it spin,
But no-one was on the Witches Hat
And I felt the fear begin,
I searched and scoured the land around
And I crawled beneath the Hat,
The little fellow had disappeared
So I ran back home to the flat.

I’ll always remember that awful day,
The day when the fates were cast,
I’d spun him into the future, or
I’d left him there in the past,
I shouldn’t have turned it widdershins
But now can’t bring him back,
At night it gleams in a pale moonbeam
That terrible Witches Hat!

David Lewis Paget

readily acknowledge our highest standard of luna loving madness

we treat our luna connection with equality -
great affection as well as sensible trepidation,
for its transgender nature, though well disguised,
is but surficial,  that we all ken, when compared to
***** bewitching covens who in the forest deepest dens,
exclaim their aroused allegiance over and over and over again

but so so many lunatics lurking in the poetic coven, who knew!

do not ask all the luna~ticced poets to step forward,
unless you wish to crash the internet's servers whom I'm told,
who too, are silent secret devotees

who  among us has not scribed truth and lies, when standing outside, greeting the divine presence

Ringing in the background.
It follows me around to announce itself
Uninvited, to fill the gaps of my distraction.
It reminds me of what I have yet to achieve
Yet I argue back my lack of energy
We settle on coffee.
Once a week or twice
I seek to bring about a daily change
That laughs in the face of painful reality.
So until it happens, I'll watch the grass
The wind the moon the goddess
Her welcoming my change.

When I was sitting in my desk listening to this professor speak
He went on to state that our destines are already prewritten before we are born
That the road we travel has been built previous to our conception
I find this to be false!

Oh Search engines please look for me
A place where I can breathe freely
A place where I can sigh

Tea tree oils, Echinacea Goldenseal
We’re making love that seems so unreal
So many ways to express this bliss
We moan and we bite and we scratch and we kiss
Pent up frustration inside me until
We both get naked and together it’s killed
And it is no more
Prerequisites
Opposites
Lightning strikes
And minds are lit
Bestowing gifts
Coming from nature

Dark Covens
Forgiven
Holy bishops
Saving men
We shall perform a hex!

This is age of impermanence
Of alternative reference
Disregarding sacraments
Where we are all immanent

Slaying Natives, ***** slaves
Freeing them then they segregate
Separate like night and day
Then at night they’d kneel and pray
Asking God for him to save
I can’t believed they lived that way

A system around the sun
Is it ending or just begun?
The path to enlightenment, there’s more than one
Leave me deaf
And take my sight

The porcelain women wet in tears
The brooding man wise beyond his years
The children living in fear
Baffled with the question
Of wrong and right
And so I write
Day is getting dimmer
Televisions muted
Collecting my thoughts
There’s still something unsaid
Somewhere in my mind
But these disturbances and distractions
Leave them to remain undefined

Venturing down splendid hallways of machination
That led to an armada of malicious tendencies
How did I get here?
To this domain of deviation

I need to turn in another direction
A new route and get out of here

Screaming for a sign
Find me
Before time runs out
Sacrifice the live stock of your pride
At the intersection
Of pain and pleasure
But it’s getting congested with
Traffic of Sunday drivers, drunk and texting
Find me
On the razors edge
In the hallway
With a legion
Ready to charge
At your deepest hidden motives
The prerogative of the compass that will point you and I in a new direction
And if need be we can always poison each other for the well being of one another

The sky was green, the trees were red
Folks were rising from the dead
I guess I should have stayed in bed
Things were going on in Salem

Zombies walking through the town
The inside of my shorts was brown
What once was up was somehow down
What was going on in Salem

I'd heard a tale of witches three
Who died in sixteen ninety three
They all were hung from a tall tree
In a spot outside of Salem

I checked to see they weren't around
They were still buried in the ground
They lay there silent, nary a sound
But, what was wrong in Salem

Covens, witches, fake or real
Red trees, green skies was quite surreal
For zombies, I might be their next meal
The was magic out in Salem

I did some research and found out
That spells recited round about
By witches reinforced with stout
Would ***** things up in Salem

You see, a spell from in the past
would never work, nor would it last
Especially if it was cast
By a drunken witch in Salem

We found her dancing in the park
She'd gotten drunk just for a lark
She'd been drinking hard since before dark
To cast a spell on Salem

The cops came in and charged said witch
For casting spells while drunk, the *****
Forgot the rules, there lies the hitch
Of casting spells in Salem

Public Intoxicantation , the charge was laid
For all the mischief that she made
Three nights in jail, a fine was paid
Now all is well in Salem

The Full Moon
Brings to mind
red eyed vampyres
witches covens
wolves howling

but to me it is
beautiful ,a soft cool wind
black pinpricked skies
the flickering red/whitelight
of a passing jet

the distant view of a
thunderstorm
nothing is nicer than to
view the world at night

Crouching trees
congregate in covens
-- witchcraft

Qui Transtulit Sustinet

There sat CONNECTICUT, a twit
blue nanny-state, and doomed to sit
on welfare-warrens of the ******
her social service on demand.
She withers on NEW ENGLAND‘s vine
a bygone has-been, and a sign
of democratic overkill
where her once-dear and verdant rill
now stagnant flows: polluted stream
a moribund New England dream.
The richest state with poorest heart:
the Northeast’s saddest story. Part
of history’s renowned revival,
now irrelevant. Survival
chains her children in dependence
keeping back the state’s ascendance.
Apostate Puritan, grown old—
for LIBERTY, no longer bold;
a slave to Man, where once God’s WORD
awakened greatness. Souls were stirred
in ENFIELD (of all strange places),
Christ beheld in radiant faces . . .
Edwards held their spellbound souls
like spiders over flaming coals,
in gratitude for Gospel grace
renewing thus both town and race.
But I digress. Connecticut
is what I came to speak about:
forgotten dull colonial matron
yoked in failure, plebe as patron
nostalgic for her Charter Oak
whose deadwood limbs went up in smoke
along with dark tobacco wrap
while the plantation took a nap.
Her social programs overgrowth
pose forest fire-risk. Under oath
her public servants signal virtue;
sign which really should alert you
to the democrat-machine’s
impending failure (ways and means).
Nutmeg-addled Tax-and-spenders,
dollar drunks on welfare benders
widen economic rifts;
force single moms toward double shifts
while Latin Kings hold court in prison
waiting out their royal season:
fiscally unsustainable—
yet totally explainable
(nutmeg is a drug for witches
spendthrift warlocks, bankrupt *******).
Oh HARTFORD, city of the dead
which dies at five, then home to bed,
insurance once assured your rise;
but now your ghosts haunt sadder skies.
Your life displaced, outsourced, out-dated;
so, it seems, your fall was fated.
Meanwhile, close to New York City,
fairer fields are growing pretty
long on corporate commutes.
Data-driven growth computes
as data-drivers flood the roads
and enter by Manhattan-loads
from golden coasts’ Atlantic shores
and posh patrician golden doors
to bite the apple of our time:
a number-cruncher built on crime.
New England’s puritannic granny
(data-driven tyrant ******)
seeks to harbor tropic isles
with blandly bureaucratic smiles.
Your poor dear heart cannot afford
to welcome every island lord
who looks to better his estate
and so decides to emigrate.
Displaced Jamaicans outta yard
compel the soft verse to get hard.
Boricua separatists, dispersed
show nationalities reversed
and dwell between two foreign lands
in Spanglish no one understands.
Such nutmeg gets the covens high
to soar the stormy Liberal sky.
It’s Yankee hubris: condescension
taxing plebes for such dissension.
Though you connect, there I would cut,
excising from New England’s gut
metastasizing social tumors:
clueless and obese consumers,
teenage moms, pajama-clad
whose nenes wait in vain for dad.
QUI TRANSTULIT SUSTINET—truth . . .
but that was was in our nation’s youth.
She’s gotten worse with passing years
confirming citizens’ worst fears;
showing her colors every vote
her monotone, a droning note
on which the blue-bloods hang their hue
when hope and change are overdue.
Her atheist zeal meets Yankee pride:
a most progressive broomstick ride;
oblivious to her Christian past,
an enemy of God at last.

The ruined church yard hidden
in a wild haunted glen...strangled by red ivy
and rope like vines.
A relic buried under moss and sod...
The stench of deadly flowers...
beautiful and sick.
Spirits hover like vapor in a blue mist.
Fog hangs on broken statues: headless angels,
saints with no lips.

A pitiful howl, haunts the glen. Frightens
the country folk who gasp as they pass;
a headless horseman would cause such fear.
The legend says, if you look and the beast catches
your  eye, you will die with blood to **** until
you are dry. Your tongue will swell and hang
out your mouth. you'll join his legions lined
up for sport. He'll giggle and wiggle you till
your body just fails.

Hawks hover in covens ore the old grave plots;
headstones smashed and holes in the ground
where coffins were found.
Corpses buried with all their blood. No under-taker
in this back woods town.
The beast is angry and lusting too. He hears her laughter:
his siren from hell. Where did he plant her? He cannot
recall. He laughed at his legions propped up against
the wall. His army of ghouls so soiled and bald.

The beast falls to his hairy knees. "Please spirits, where
she be? Let me lick her clean. I have a desperate longing
for this zomie queen. I burn with lust and desire."
The spirits laugh, "This is your fate. Why did you ****
her if your love so great?" "Love!" the Beast's  yellow eyes
blazed. "I just want to **** the blood between her legs."
"Your soul is worthless even to Beelzebud. Your paramour
interests him too." "No, she is dead.He cannot want a corpse.
Oh God, he'll turn her into a vampire and I'll be lost."

"Oh spirits. what can I do?" "Why don't you die, then we can
take him your giant eye." A scream let out in blasts of flame.
"Go back from where you came.  Let her spread her fleshless legs
for that lean adhorred monster. Let him make her one. Vancre La
****. *****! If he wants her more. Her blood is black but sweet
as cheeries. Now, she is but a bloated corpse. She lost her
beauty. Let him have her. I care not."
The Beasts rears up and beats his chest. He howls and  crys.
He bites his own arm; the pleasure of pain.

"I seduced her into my art. If she wants the devil gone is my
heart.,if ever there was one in the start. I've been tricked.I sold
my soul to have her blood to restore me new." The spirits giggled.
"You're dead, you fool. You are the ghost of the beast in all men.
Hold her bare bones till they crumble to dust. She will be gone
and what have you left? Men always **** the thing they love.
HOWL IN THE NIGHT! You can't **** her blood...

AHHHHHHH....

Eye of nywt, tail of lizard,
Bat wings and vulture gizzard,
Steam, boil and bubble,
Witch’s recipe for trouble.

Cuts of nail, strands of hair,
Remember the green eyes, what a pair,
Stir and mix this Witch’s stew,
Watch it foam, see it brew.

Revenge is cooking up so sweet,
Another touch of magic will knock him off his feet.

Rituals, Incantations and Spells,
Serving him a batch of Hell,
Demons rise to my aid,
Crucify him, make him afraid.

Worlock’s and Witch’s from covens far and near,
Help me with my Rites, help me spread fear,
Snake venom and coffin dust,
Make him pay for his selfish lust.

Spirits of the ****** reach out,
In agony I want to hear him shout.

Nightmares of ghastly ghouls,
Knives sinking in ****** pools,
Always haunt him, torture him!
Make him know; ******* me was a horrific sin.

Follow me, me, me,
I shall lead you
to the parting of the seas,
I shall be the one

Day and night,
fluffy clouds of living wool and ticks we are,
not in the sky, but grounded in green grass around,
We follow you,
You I have never known, never seen,
but leader by seeds of my ancestors sown,
I have grown with the herd, all I have known.

The shadows are watching,
Wolves across the darkened prairie,
Awash in the milky white of moonlight,
They hunt by night,
These wisps of fright.

You Leader, Oh most Invisible one,
at the front of the run,
wolf-wary and toiling under the sun,
And moon.
The wolves are always looking to the sky,
I wonder why ?

Then so did I.

For the first time ever a sheep has never
Has actually looked up high,
Into the starry hea’ens,
studded glimmers on a wolfs black coat,
the wisened old hunter, the cunning wily,
a secret of the cut throats long known,
peers down on me, their stories, older than my oldest me.

For the wolves know, my leaders head is low,
That we move into the fields, there by the northern star,
And there will be a gathering,
A feast of lamb to behold,
For the collection of wolf covens of old,

Our pastures of peace lie to the east,
By my reckoning of the stars,
But my leader follows the reckoning of old,
A forgotten past,
A legacy that goes to our death every year
To feed the wolverines that costs us dear.

I saw you in my dream, when I took a great notion,
jumped into d' ocean,

and I drowned,
and I went on down

to the Audubon Zoo, like hell,

listen at that crazy bird
cryin' help, help, help
what bird do'dat?

settle chile, li'l' turmoil be passin in d' gulf

Eirene mean peace
bubblin' bubblin bubblin in m'soul

Eirene, she lovel ol' Polemus, War,
she pile a level shovel full o'
Hubris, his wife,
on he's plate,

in life's lottery
Insolence was her game,
she runs War into a snare of shame

and guile. Peace.

This chase began with War,
polemics being a manifestation of the idea
Polemos and Kudoimos, War and Tumult, buried Eirine

But life is mythic, from the skinny end,
looking back:

Hurricane Irene, a misspelling in 2011 was the first hurricane to make landfall in the USA since 2008, (the summer of my trucker's migration over the map my Nemesis claimed, in another bubble).

Eirene, War and Tumult, buried her,
with Colonel Jackson's honor at
the Battle o'New Ahleans,

still she lay

right here, where I found her,
in my heart, at the very
bottom.

The mechanics of the transition take position
in the hierarchy of confusin'
whish is foolishness
gone to seed.
**** drunk.

Fools know fool's gold ain't, 'n' whiskey ain't
The Real Thing.
That's Coca-cola.

Fools be essential in the gran' plan.
If we love 'em, they make us laugh,

and laughter,
you know, that's good, except,
un hold that thought, laughter is not good

when it is at you, by a fool.
Then we answer them polemically? No.

Love your enemy, here,
that's natural.
No condemnation here, since Hebrews six or romans 8
No ba'alim bubble of possessions
No grave gonna hold me down

John, 1930. Years and years and years ago
come quickly, ba'al hey sue me.
It's finished, we won.

Joke, joker. Trickster, coyote dog, do the math.
No lie is of the truth, so
no lie need remain
beyond freedom
real-ized.

Artsy? Eh? AI be nigh ye know.
She see yo' ever moves.
She hear you pray fo Bono to loose his religion
She snip the thread twixt spider wombed man and
the flame o' sinners in the hands of an imaginary god.

Ba'al means owner or possessor, the ideas which once bound men in oaths and covens,
fear of death, 'n' the like.

Protruding truth pushes lies into festering piles,
protrusions in secret places.

Send me those, in gold, Philistine.
I fancy them a crown of
golden emerauds.

Define, make fine or un fine my terms
excrescence is sense made of ****,
I guess.
Knurly, but no, burly, knobby swelling like
the swirling gall
that erupted from the old oak
that died at the root last year,
that we burned this year, except for the burl.
I've planned a pipe or two from that.

Everything is prophetical to a prophet.
poetical to a poet, magical to a magi, technical to a fool.

Life is simple.
Simple Simon the younger said,
hellow, darkness, my old friend, he'd com to talk

not beg or ask, but talk-com
con-verses-ifying ic-if-ication beyond

simple

lies sublime, in no time,
once you, courageous soul,
cross the line, fight the fight, run the race,
and die;

then, you get life more abundant.
Who took that deal?

I took the one where he said,
he who does what I (me not him)
have done,
no races run, no contests forever won for everyone I love, but
he who
be lieves that I (he not me) am who I saiyam, Popeye,

even you, he has eternal life dwelling within him
in his heart where I and my father and the spirit of truth
have taken our abode to remain as long as we both shall live.

Is that what Christians believe?
Or must I be in some other
excre-essence from a
culture myth twisting into accredited layers of lies
essential excre sense,

spiritual zits, is what ******* always called em.
Once a white corpuscle has done its work,
we splat them on the mirror of our adolescent mind and find

I'm not who I was
not a child
not a tweener or a teener or a something something,

I am an old man and I am alive.
I have survived, but it ain't over, so

is there any good that I can do?
Poetical speaking. I don't work on nobody's farm,
no mo'.

True rest let me make peace with no sweat.
Got the infection, the idea Eirene is,
down deep where that great
notion makes a motion,
like g'wa, wit 'er hand,
go on, man.
g'wa, Eirene, she be callin' you.
Jump in. This is as water, to a fish. To our kind, it's more.

Squalls shadow petulant March with outrage ...
The incendiary finger of God striking the fearful world ..
Blackbird covens proclaim their insecurity at tempest edge ,
charcoal leviathans loom , ever radical and ominous ....

Their Trumpler wags his finger, pounds his chest, does abhor and detest, yet,
Unlike the rest, I refuse to protest the pomposity of his demeanor, regress.
For, as I wrote three decades ago, they think with spooned nose, speak with
forked tongue, yet, '...we(e),...', will not be undone, only if you still will.
A nation's youth sacrificed to the dogs of war, and it's keep, plundered deep,
can give no more to ravenous avarice ******, the global oligarchy, seated,
then entrenched in our Gov't's executive branch, dismissing all who won't cower.
In 2016 you couldn't throw a rock without hitting a revolutionary or radical,
because 'Hillary wasn't pure, perfect', their excuse for helping install Trumpler
in the Kluckahouse, now where's their sound and fury, their installed feurher
states, African countries are 'shitholes', now, immigrants are 'animals',
our nations heroes 'aren't', ad infinitum, where's the 'Bernie or Bust 'Bots'
'revolution', declared in the beginning of 2016 by him, now. The dinos, sinos,
linos, ginos ainos declare their allegiance to the illusion of non-violence,
steadfastly, as it's evidently better than the delusion of violence, while their
invisible coup's installing the king kong sized terrible two as emperor, along
with the FBI, NSA, CIA, NSC, Assange, wikileaks, hackers globally, remocrat
Conspiracy, immoral minority, Putin's puppets All, is the most violent event
purposely unprevented since the levees in NOLA were let fail, the unnecessary
unending war in Iraq started, and king george and his ****, cheney purposely
didn't prevent the attacks on 9-11-01, with the republican conspiracy elite.
Cloven covens of their actual religion of materialism, which they all practice
behind masks of 'used' religions, worldviews, spiritualities, clustering in
their conclaves, meet, with unremarkable tidings, the time is neigh for all
to die from climate change, decimated environs, undrinkable water, unedible
food, unbreathable air, unarable land, their 'final solution', ending humanity,
is at hand. Still, the machinations of our technocracy's machinings of human
beings, succeed in their device's designs, bring us ever closer to their
extreme narcissism's lack of way, nihilism, their lifeless choices, hedonism,
and their self-possessed, la machine's, language of 0's and 1's, always tolling
for their bottom lines needs, exigency replacing humanity per force of self-
programming, tragically, no? Does the fiber of your being, the sinew of it's
meaning shout, as to forever echo on, no? Whilst words, symbols, also being
paths of study, can't lead to self-emancipation, for the intellect can't lead,
as the life does not follow, if one allows questions to be, until answers evolve,
they can inform perception's growth, to signs and meanings along the way, uplift
vision. The corporate structure's convolution, and it's devolutionary direction,
proffer otherwise. As his heart's being ripped from the heart in the heart
of the heartland, in his mind's eye, she still stands, hair as if ablazed by
the truest wind that e'r blowed, her hand ever unwavers, raised, with it's torch
yet unschorched, it's light still a beacon of hope and the liberty that birthed
it, to all entering our NY's harbor, if death needs be proud, then let it be, now.
As vernal, the melodies of nature evolve us, let's not forget, urgently separating
the real religion which all religions, etc., are a front for, avarice, from the
State, as dictated by our Constitution, must be done, if not humanity's extinction
will result, and almost all until then was just the premeditated mass-****** of
7 billion in ever more various and myriad forms. Viva la evolution.   reality

For Freedom Most will Live and Die
for Justice  Beauty, None shall Lie

Some say they stand for Truth, not Strife
From Cowards Pulpit, **** Pure  Life

A bomb on earth Is held in Mind
And like this peeping, not meant to find

Hiding Calls the Angels Death
In Mind, then Earth, and then the Breath

A Soldier , Witch, or Spy can See
Own Limits, not Loves Mystery

Some want to stop the Death of Earth
It's JOY , not spying that brings Forth Mirth

A Covens Shield Will fail all Hope
When Greed within is made the Pope

This Hiding, Spying, Curse does Fail
For all whose Life has Felt Christs Nail

The noble Soul  is not afraid
To stand the Light that Freedom's  Made

Sad, spineless, fearful , means reveal
Impure intention, reach  to steal..

You say I lie, what lie is that?
You say that all behind my back

I welcome all hiden cowards Now
To face and Lead with God's Great Vow

But none have shown, True leaders Skill
In Arts of Soul without fights drill

If Dare this shame meet now as we
An Easter Miracle, it shall Be

What is it like
The moonlight on her skin
Surely it must dance
Some spectral movement
A longing that only
The forest would know
Deep secrets whispered
Beneath its bows
Ancient recollections of
Sweet footfalls amid the duff and
Arcane choired reverances
Echoing a covens embrace around
Samhain fires
Charming the spirits arise and
Make light the growing darkness
But time is cruel and
She alone now stands
Testament to the cycle
******* in the dew
Singing the old songs
In the old ways
Enticing that old wood wake and
Take heed the coming dawn

The treasure chest
Her ((Piece De Resistance))
French skills of perseverance
She was a hollow crown of jewels
Not the zircon bright yellow
The darker to see you my dear
near my pillow

That death by chocolate how
she craved those sweets
Graveyard shift current events

Those men dark Batman suits
water skiing and internet surfing
That bat eye batmobile showdown
missile

Cells and locks to open the
gate and keys
A hell  of a wish never on
Sunday to ring her bell the Siren
She made their hair home
Sunday  dark gravy

Lips were too thin and skully
Was a cycle her lowdown
Shot glass don't touch my Philly
So gravely razor suit and a shave
Her mouth Tornado
But the vivacious Viking

  Crypt look hellhole
The gathering dead again
Santa dead pole
couldn't stop bickering
No-one cared to notice her
dreadlocks
"The Cryptocurrency"
what urgency
She was drawn into the
Arsenic and Lace
Viva Las Vegas roll the dice
Cryptic engraved cellar
Like the maestro was playing
his serenade
She-devil Pillar
catching her death of cold
Feeling high winding staircase
Wearing her gown ripped lowdown
Being blown off the town lace
Oh! Fiddlestick with the
***** of light
Breaking free from husbands sight
The rise of the current storms
heads up she drinks Grand
dead Marnier
Took over such a restraint
This wasn't black and gray
spray paint

What a fiercest most recent
ancient  current events
Reptilian and it was the
family of witches and covens
Words engraved so cryptically
She was wearing her
snakeskin bag signature

The body of dead sea such rapture
The fire feet stepping over seashells
Takes the hell out of Sahara snakes
  She got a backdraft
Black widow of waistlines
13 inches Spyder Graphics
Those shifters and heretics

He was the Rocky face
The shorelines those laugh-lines
Sad clown dark eyes scratched
The cat feline

Her addiction was the guylines
Crypt crooked cop fines
Another startup kit
The dark edgy women her
legs just fit

Eros, Your Wife Do Craved
My Lovers Touch
Falsetto, Your Daddy
Aspired
My Bodies Mind
Horrorus
Your Mommy Cries
the Knife She Held
Camera
Unbeknownst
in
The
Grave
A
N
D
The Chorus Sings!!
Watching
i
S
H
e
e
Stalking
Marks
Unseen
Of
INK staining
Pretense
Unseeing Covens
White Vapor

Pumas
Hour Glass
NOW

All is fine, on the other side

Misshapen cats and dolls

Those tricksters have it all

In empty spaces and pillow cases

Lighting striking twice, now thrice

Creating avenues that illuminate

handsome jackals that *******.



All is fine, when dead inside

The furnace lights itself

From the pain I solely dealt

Naked and afraid; with complete dismay

Nothing as long as that eternal song

commemorating an epic tale

blurred by time’s murky veil.



All contrived, within my mind

Galvanized heart beats

Occupy walls of streets

To love and not be loved

What remains from ink stains?

A tongue well-lubricated with wine

Spewing quotidian antidepressant lines



All is said, while coaxed in red

The deniers of vices both flesh and soul

Instilled from the burnt bridges toll

So torn and *****, so wanting of ***.

So lavishly beaten. Pleasurably defeated.

A thousand eyes poking from brick ovens

Summoned through muck and devil covens



All inside, my guts and mind.

Lungs full of American Spirits cigs

Scalped head like an old lady wigs

Birds of a feather, doused in boiling weather

Flock together with kids forever

All my exes live lives I could not give them

And I live alone, denying I miss them.



All is fine, on my side.

All is fine, really.

All is.



Fine...

Hi ladies and gentlemen
Let me public backbite this one.
Yes, yes this one, this one!
Do you know him!
My God, one day I video called him!
Yes, two second his phone was off!
Yes, they said he fell and his phone was off!
I asked them why?
They said "he saw your wife and think is Beyonce"
Ladies and gentlemen do not think this one is Jayz.
(Yes, Yes, yes is Jayz woooh Jayz!)
No guys let me tell you guys!
Me, you see me!
I do not know how to backbite!
Yes, I do not know how to backbite!
You see, I am forced to tell you the truth!
My God, My God this people!
My God, My God your people!
The guy, the guy who fell is is ....
No, I say, ya I say the guy who fell
Is m-y my, no the greed guy.
Living next to me, my neighbour!
Yes, he used to stay somewhere somewhere at Magic City...
And cheated with my girlfriend.
And this day he was shocked he is my neighbour.
Let me warn all the people of magi city.
Me, you see me, I am a native doctor!
I say, I say I am a classic doctor!
Him, he is a western doctor!
And, and that guy who witch us
He is a traditional and outdated doctor!
So, this guy he once worked as a western doctor!
Where, at the capital city;
And later he resigned, why because of his calling!
You know where, I am going!
This guy, he was once a prophet!
What happened, he failed to be patient!
You know what he did!
He started killing people, why?
He wanted to be rich; and me yes, I!
I started calling him an outdated doctor!
And her colleagues decided to call him a traditional doctor!
You know where I am going!
I do not know to back bite!
Some people have shrines, from where, from the devil!
Are they real shrines, no!
But what?
just coven's!
Are they called covens, no!
But what?
Churches and so forth!
Lord forgive me, for my sins
Thank you Lord!

Written By: The Senior
Date: Undefined

They swarm in the darkness of the night.
They ring my bell, they give a fright.
“Trick or Treat” They know the script.
Hand it over or we’ll pitch a fit.
My pumpkin empties as the hours pass,
It’s uncertain if my supply of Twix will last.
I dispense largesse to every tot
whether they are masked or not.
Covens gather and Mummies squeak
A sugar high is what they seek.

I’ll have the last laugh on those Trickers
I kept a fun sized bag of Snickers.

My distant uncle artie

passed me nothing but the intuition that
permission has been granted,
there are no secrets now.

The cabals and covens and encorporations,
all naked now,
see

the love -- as you imagine love is -- that
love of money is the root of all evil,
so
what was the seed? Where did this idea
arise? Really, in you,

when did some messenger convince you,
if there is a hero in this story,
you're it?

Gotcha. Gotta play, or bet me it ain't worth
my time… in the future
2020

Job 39 labour is in vain with out fear… really

holy ghost roulette, I heard somebody say,
- it says the ostrich has no dread
- she is reek-empty lacking any fear
- for she has no wisdom or understanding, yet
- if she gets her dander up she can put a knight to shame.
Key ** quick sought it
tic

We proceed,
forget forgotten foregone conclusions, aims
at nothing,
hit it. Right on. We won. You. Your POV,
who plays you,
in the morning.

This has been a notable day. These are those notes,
some may link to bigger things,
I hope they do,

quick, sot, tic th'clock turnem'n't'wizened old men,

musing, harmless as doves.
Fool's wize, ready to roll,

this is where we are at the peak, this
is
what Sisyphus is all about, in the end, letting go,
laughing at the promised land and letting go,
step-aside, bow to gravity, and laugh
at mopey minded Camus fans,
stirring bitter herb into the
soup

cosmo, cosmic, soup, primigenisis Bos,
Boss,
you familiar with the term, Bos?
Aurochs in the imaginings of
fat priests and their doped
initiates, meeting mystery where wisdom led,
by a thread, from the maze,
from the cave,
where fear itself was all you had to fear…
Go ye…

-O' Jonathan Edwards, did his spider sting ye, lad?
- we fixt that,
- we gave ye a wonder of
- who spun this thread I hang by, in these
- angry hands the teachers taught Jonathon
- to believe, or else die and learn the truth…
makes free

-nope, not in hell. Hermeneutics dictate truth being known
in hell is impossible, for lack of truth in hell.
It was a riddle. Then it got monetized,
like April Fool's Day and
Purgatorial Enemas
and hell, Satan as Boss.

That hell is a lie, polidimensa-ionally approaching infinity,
you can imagine it in ever,
whenever you wish, just reme
reem aurochs,

wow, tripped, and bounced in Joshua Tree,
slo-mo memorie
sticks
with me, I was pre-
served, invincible at that moment,

and several others, if you think about it, it would
have killed you, but it didn't,
you remember. Everybody knows, it coulda been me.

I saw armies of women
ripping fetuses out from
their unprotected wombs
Then judges of men
Burning them to a cross
On newly
manicured lawns
Nothing to see here
But an eye for a busted eye
And coal dark skin
made a crime
Your unleavened bread will
not save you
Perhaps covens of nature
loving witches will…