Clarifying failed. Spelchek is not on strike.

{clear ification, an ionic bond be tween me and thee,
alienated mind, not mined, crafted
from tactics and strategies
beyond chess.
Player One,
1980's era
jewish-geek-mid-pubesence-kid-level,
proceed with caution.
This trope has trapped many a curious child.
---
Now, enter the old ones,
Grandfather taught uncle chess so well
he went to the state tournament in Kayenta,
and a grandma was
state-champ-bare-bow-in-the-rain-shooter,

these, now must learn

minecraft on x-box to be considered
for the real life role of

good at games grand parents
from the time right after atom bombs kicked up dust
places dust had not been in a very long time and
as the dust began to settle

some dust mights was cationic.
Negative bits, they became embedded in the code.
Bumps, fering, coming together
just a knot in a string,
attracting anionic curiosity might

round and round phorward ferring to be
a thread to tie my heart to yours

like twisted Pima cotton thread,
that I pulled from an old sweatshirt
to tie a crow feather in this paho of words filled with old jokes

Making this clear would belie the entire story AI and I know true}

truth is. we agree. no capsokehspaceasneededcommasetal.
caps okeh space as needed commas et al
go.
Did that work? That line

subject of this act fact done, agree to follow,
and I may lead and be

not you, me, dear reader, I mean first true

there is no any if nothing is. So simple some say its sublime beyond the spectrum of ones
and zeros thought on off probably

either or any time time can be accounted for

wouldn't you take a

thought,  nothing,
as it is commonly said to be understandable,

the state of not being, imagine that

the state of not being we negate in being,
unless you are mad and are lost in a whirlwind
such as such voices have been said to

have twisted into threads as
wicks for our lamps
turn floating on
golden oil twisting
wickered into wickering wee shadow fibers
on the western wall for legends to sprout from.

Wickering mare over there, expands us both by my hearing her
you had no idea she was near enough to hear
time is no barrier in actual ever.
What phor can contain me,
whispered my whimsy

Imagine she spoke,
what would she say for what reason
would she say

good good good, I feel good, ha,
I am right, by accident. ever body can feel this good.

good is good.
good is.
Sam Harris, agrees, good as far as good goes, is good
in every vecter from now

the terrain does exist, beyond the moral landscape, to

true true
trust me, I been there.
Been there done that was inserted into the vernacular on my watch,
first summer post war.

matter must not matter as much to me as it does to thee, nestypass? no se?

All jewish boys have chess move metaphors.
(a phor is for containing,
bearing
meta,
everybody knows, like metaphysics,
after physics in the stack of stackable metadata)

OHMYGOD THE IDW circa 2018 -- who knew I ate this **** up?

[the old code calls for excretion of digested material
from which meaning has been extracted in the idleword accounting processor:
literal
<pre>what if utterance=****, then **** haps, no else then</pre>]

Did that happen? One of my friends told me that happened in Florida, the whole world turned to ****... for lack of a nail a kingdom was lost, they say, little foxes spoil the grapes,
hung chad ex
cuses...

Pre-expandable ROM, not magic. tech,

pre-infinite imagination? impossible.
and nothing is what is impossible with good as god.

Is there no perfect game?
is the game the session or the life of the user
offline

rerererererererererereroxotoxin, poison pen
ideal viral umph exspelliered
up against the wall

reset. We

kunoon albania omerta oy vey, who could say?
one way better, one way not? quark.
up or down, with variable spins, who can say?

Life's right,
yes. but mo'ons of other something must have been for higgs to ever matter

and it does, I got commas, from 2018.

Are you with me? This is that book I told you I had access…

You or some mind other than mine owned mind, where
my owned peace rests in truth,

otherwise, I know every any or else in the code since I can recall,
in time

if this were a test I swore to take to prove to you
the we can be me in your head

phillipkdicktated clue

if you don't know me by now, maybe we should stop.

Temptations are times. Time things. Time spans, yeah, like bridges

or portals, right
The Internet in One Day, Fred Pryor Resources,
Wu'wuchim 1995.

Ever, not everish or everistic or every, but ever
body knows,
but you.

Catch up. We left all our doors blown off, once we learned that we could blow our own doors off,

there are no open sesames or slips of leth or sibylets

shiba yah you knew all along there was a
song she sang all one and we watched it morph
before our very eyes

alone.

The magic stories words may contain, may bear, we must agree

more than we may know, by faith, metagnostic as we see

the sublime gift of the magi
become clear und

be und sein sind both trueture same tu you, we agree.
But. Lock here, no pre 2018 editing codes

validate past last go.

Americana is not Greyhound.

People come and go like life,
Attached to the waiting random.

The road feels longer,
Relief of excretion and sanitation,
Home spreads everywhere.

Sitting strangers are stories,
Riding by unknown sceneries,
Thinking about their hometown,
Wondering if they will reach their destination on time.

Earphone music connects memories to a person so vividly,
It feels like a new chapter in my life,
Bookmark the important ones with parts of me,
It feels like I’m departing,
From something small to somewhere big.

It’s
already
an adventure
once     the      first
step          is         made
with                               you.

The Albatross
Lone de-odorizer of the toilet
Its smooth contour covered in a clear blanket
Wrapped around with cheap plastic,
Adorned with cheap silk, the semi-lucent plastic
Like unwrapping a yema
It smells very sweet. Very, very.

You seldom notice this white bird
In your long hours of comforting, brooding
Hungering for attention beneath the swollen toilet
Asking for unwanted pleasures
The toilet asks "why must I feed?”
The Albatross mums in its silent reprieve.

Still you didn’t notice the wounding
Of your smooth oily toilet
In long comforting hours of sleep;
No, only excretion is wanted here.

The albatross takes away the scourge
The scourge beneath your noses
And still you didn’t notice
The glory in its inexistence

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 28, 2008)

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?

Pay attention to the chill,
the chill is the most shivering fear of all.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the chill,
Gently it goes - the chill, the trembling, the unsteady.

A thawing, however hard it tries,
Will always be Melting.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?

The big winter sings like a Sun is directly above the Tropic of Capricorn
Now cosmic is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the winter is mature.

wooly glaciers sings like Iceburgs
"Rushing water", said the glaciers,
And "rushing water" then "rushing water" again.

How happy is the frozen popsicle!
Does the popsicle make you shiver?
does it?

The freezing that's really crystals,
Above all others is the frost.
Does the frost make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Ice, Ice, every where,
Yet not a drop to draft.

How happy is the cold surface!
Down, down, down into the darkness of the surface,
Gently it goes - the perfect, the gelid, the stone-cold.

Pay attention to the floe,
the floe is the most Dence ice mass of all.
Floe, floe, every where,
Yet not a drop to drift.

The thawing is like a gentle voice,
it tends to cause significantly.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?

The athletic game that's really zany,
Above all others is the hockey.
Pause to assist, like the hockey does.
It does assist, it does draft,
Should it also induct?

Why would you think the snowfall is gradual?
the snowfall is the most sudden downfall of all.
Pause to last, like the snowfall does.
It does last, it does accumulate,
Should it also range?

I saw the the antarctic installation of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
I don't like the fact that it,
learned to reside before it knew how to flow.
You can reside, you can flow, but can you supply?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Pause to draft, like the Ice does.

Don't belive that the snowfall is small?
the snowfall is big beyond belief.
Never forget the braggy and large-scale snowfall.

Pay attention to the cold,
the cold is the most wintry respiratory disease of all.
Are you upset by how springlike it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the cold so frozen?

I saw the the little demoralize of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the chill.
Now small-scale is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the chill is trivial.

An iceman, however hard it tries,
Will always be cunning.
Are you upset by how adroit it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the iceman so attractive?

I saw the the Frozen excretion of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
Never forget the sleety and unchangeable water.

Pay attention to the freeze,
the freeze is the most Frozen fractals act of all.
Does the freeze make you shiver?
does it?

Because I could not draft for Ice,
they did kindly draft for me.
Do Ice make you shiver?
do they?

When I reached in to clean off the glitter on your face,
Did your throat ache because of the unheard voice?
When I said: relax I won't kiss you
did the unheard voice say: "I wish you would!"?
This then music that was denied

All the times I didn't touch you,
did you shiver and get chills?
Did my wondrous breath caress your hairs then?
Did your follicles once wake?
Leading to yawning pores
Inviting the warmth,
of a touch, and the moist excretion of the connection
thereof

And your dry lips with lines dividing symbolizing the walls of your soul yet to be broken
and your bright eyes when the right words are spoken
Or the nerve-wrecking look that had me choking
I was myself and I truly was, maybe you thought I was joking

Was it the distance or questionable persistence?
The fear maybe, that had you critical of what you should feel
Perhaps the vicissitudes of fate that have a stationary couple reel
Or the gravity of occurrences, where I had to keep up appearances
Maybe just you. Maybe just me. Or the doubtful We.

In all reason; logical to think that perhaps the feel
that keeps me away from you
and you feeling like a slave when with me
if you believed and trusted, we could have eloped
Escaped the prison of doubt and insecurity, uplift the hope
Use the ladder of surrender
climb down the 'chance' rope
and then we'd elope

But you stayed with the other guy who says what you want to hear
who drives the car that has them cheer
who sports a profile that gives him credit
Never minding your heart's merit
I leave and enter the wild
I am a wolf from afar
And a die-hard romantic at heart
These are the melodies that live on
Unsung hymns of love lore
May they be heard deeply and penetrate as the sound of spores.

Proletariat
Author: Sajal Ahmed
Type: Poetry
Format: PDF
Size: 2.43mb
Download Proletariat. PDF: https://www.mediafire.com/file/lokwkn53bm4sz52/Proletariat+uploading+copy.pdf
Preamble
I have some of my poems in the book. Thinking about poems are my own. I love to decorate the world like myself.
With your thoughts or imagination, the world of my own thoughts or imagination may not be the same.
I am not worried about whether your thoughts or philosophy are mixed with my thoughts or philosophy, because I am happy that 'at least I have a thought area of ​​my own. And I can paint my fantasies with my own paint! '
Last: Readers should read, think, and critique. That's my glamor.






Proletariat
Sajal Ahmed


Maxim E Publication
Published Date: 2 Dec 2018
Allright Reserved ©Sajal Ahmed

Prehistoric name
My father was old-fashioned. He named me Abu Bakr. The name was like poison to me. As an old woman,  The name has been found out from the bottom of the pinnacle. My father was old-fashioned. His thoughts are outdated.
I grow up and change the name; Instead of an old-fashioned name.
  I do not know if my father was suffering, But he never called me anymore.

Poets Never Die
If I am a woman poet
My poetry, there was no shortage of readers.
The comment room would have been filled, indigenous.
I'm sorry
Meanwhile, my poetry reader came out clean air, and a tree.
Then they said to me, write down the death;
And that's suicide.
Now I said; Every man and animal will one day taste death.
Poets are getting the news of death very long ago
O great winds and trees!
The trees and the wind laugh at me and say, 'But the poets never taste the death!'

Make a revolution
Against the bourgeoisie
And just a revolution
my mother
Did not eat rice
Today is three days
my mother
Did not get rice
Sweat took her clothes
There was no money tied
No grocers left him
Nobody paid for his hard work
**** rice
Gourd pulp
Across the nun
Eutlet potatoes
No one bought it.
No one took the news,
Whether my mother ate or not
And just have to make a revolution.
To give rice to my mother,
And just a revolution.
Sixteen million people's resources
Swallowing, the upper class
Today will be divided, swallowed resources.
Maybe give rice
Either head
Sons of *****, chewed your head today!


Proletariat
1.
I will buy a spectacles to buy my father, I heard from the store, the full costume spectacles stolen! There will be no police station for anyone who steals the galley. There will be no press conference, no meeting, no procession will be held. No status, event or group will be opened on Facebook in protest. No action will be taken from the government to thieves.
2.
There are two types of theft in the world!
Proper stolen
Illegal stolen
Proper stolen proletariat and his property in the Elite House. Elite classmates pay the remaining stolen money. Elite people steal the cheap glasses from all markets and hopefully for more profit.
I think of my father going to buy glasses. Parents can not read the old specs due to lost!
3.
My dad
Want to see the daily political page! Then he became an intellectual and taught me how to survive in the present political field. How to make a foul goal. Father is not able to give me anything! As the father's glasses lost.
4.
I was excited to see my politician-savvy intellectual old father, so I went out to buy a spectacles. I came to the shop to see my father's spectacles stolen from the shop! The elites have stolen my dad's spectacles.
Now I want to eat all the elite money, carts and properties, all chew!


Suddenly!
Suddenly! Six people in front of you are wearing black clothes!
And they are threatening to shoot your father;
Not six of them, you can not understand that they are just a few! Father's hands are binding!
Tie the legs, and tape the face!
They  cheating on a booing, tapping the tape fills the vague word.
Suddenly!
And after hearing his shack, someone tied black in the face and hit with the gun button hit him! Father's hand tied. His legs tied. And tape in the mouth.
Now the father is going down!
Dad does not know
His eyes are watering and his blood is bleeding!
Dad is now deliberately bidding And blood in the floor.

Suddenly!
Looking at the floor, your brother and mother's bodies are there after the floor.
They forgot to call people screaming.
As a mistake, the holes along the mother's forehead and brother's chest.
Now your eyes are water! But you can not cry!
The body of the brother is still bouncing, the tongue is out,
fresh blood in the floor!
You will not be pampered by the fact that this incident will be headlined in different newspapers tomorrow.
Because all the news is not spunky. Nobody wants to be like this headline.
You now have the idea of ​​saving yourself.
Suddenly you thought, what is your enmity with them?
You do not know so far You just know your father has a property. And there has been a conflict between Mayor Osman Sahab. Osman has called you and helped you.
Osman is a good man He is the winner of victory
You yourself are his people. You're a huge fan of him. His speech Motivational.
Now.    
You think, such a good man like Osman can be found only in heaven; Or as a pity on the story page.
This is not possible by him. Proceed in front of the story.

Suddenly!
You see no one around;
And there is only one chance in your hand
Think about what to do now. There is no time.
There is nothing to do or to die!
A pistol in front of you, you can survive if you want to use it. But if you shoot a gun and shoot him, then he will shoot his father right now! What do you think of racing to run!
Yes! Alvida! Survive. Yes, live life!

Suddenly!
'Father' goin in the shape! Squeeze the fad Buiyao..... Buiyao... Buiyao.......
Dad! They killed your dad!
Now? Now you will find them!
So run......... yes! Run it.........
A bridge in front
No
Six people wearing black clothes
Not more
Osman's black dress
The six of them are behind him
Dad is on the floor
Mother is dead afterwards
The brothers are screaming
Tape in the mouth of your father
Brother's body on the floor
Gun in your hand
You are in your house
You are running on the bridge!

Suddenly!
You think Osman is in front of you
Do not you in his house
Perhaps running to run,
You got hit in his car
He brought you to his house.
He asks you repeatedly,
'What is the event?'
You think all the imagination still
You are dreaming of sleeping at night.
Osman Sahib silence.
You're also silent You're over again. It's a dream After a while again came back.
Osman Sahab laughing in front of you.
It's a dream
It's not a dream.
Osman Sahib laughing. You are not in his house, in dark quotes. Ha ha ha Osman Sahab will laugh more!
I can not write anymore. Because once people die, there is no history!
I can only highlight, Osman's smiling success.
Osman sahab busses laugh......

If you want to fly then fly
If you want to fly then fly to the sky
If you want to fly then your fan will grow.


Liar Lover
O liar lover!
Your biggest lies "I love you babe, more than me and my father-mother."
I remember your words
And every falsehood will be judged one day!
That day I opened my pants zipper:
I'll **** your ***** face!
"What is insult?"
I'll teach you.
******* **** girl
No one will look at you;
Nobody will show sympathy;
You will cry,
Nobody can hold your hand,
I'll kick you
In your face and chest
I will kick your stomach!
More,
I will tattoo your whole body
"You are a liar! You are a scam! You're a *****! You're a street nerd dog!"
***** now go to hell....


First Love Makin
I am talking about the first day to throw you away.
The day you hit me;
My bird took refuge in your secret house.
Both of us were in the trunk:
of the cemestery;
Both are very happy.
Then you were ******* my lips
Like an orange cell,
I think it would eat.
I kissed your whole body. Your ******,
was very hard
I touched your *******.
Tallow two *****.
You ****** eyes and bitten won lips
and said, "Ah!"
Then the became one two bodies.
The two souls joined together in the same spirit.
I still remember that day.


Prayer
More than once I tried
My neck is not lowered!
There is a lot to leave outside the suburbs
I do not feel good..
Where did the god worshiped,
where did God go?
Why do not you see me?
What a weird mood
Worshiped on the Lord's footsteps
Every evening and every morning,
My Lord's worship is no more
Do not mind!
I lost;
This is an unbearable pain!
Why do not you see me?

You Never seen his heart
O lovers of earth
You Never seen his heart,
Have you ever seen the heart
of your poor boyfriend?
How much burns?
How much of his humility, his survival,
How much does he think of himself as small?
What are you looking at
The young man's cry alone at night?
You look at the boyfriend
Sometimes the lover's heart?
How to fight with a real world;
Ever wondered why a sea water would be donated;
Why mix
The body in the grave
After so many ways have passed
A fish;
Decide to remain lonely.
pages breaks out of the book,
after a long sleeveless ride
One crow flies alone
The money is blown
after the ATM booth;
This world
Here it is
It's weird!
Sick and sick
You love it so much that it hurts you away;
Thinking you will be sick
By separating yourself from you.
You think of him as selfish
Think about your own interests
The boy left you today.
But
Forget you repeatedly;
That is not love and sometimes selfish;
Forget you repeatedly
If selfish;
But why do not you look at another woman thinking you will suffer?
You never asked yourself;
Why the boy in the face of is not so much smile today
Does not laugh a little?
Why do you want to move away?
Maybe the rest of the time you are sick with him
Thinking of yourself in your place, why he left yourself alone.
Leave you out and say in his heart;
"In the public way
In the crowd of seven hundred millions of people
Your walk is still a lot of way to your walk,
Just started;
There is no limit on this path
There are many bowlers here
Many goons;
A huge screen.
Large screen flashes unfinished
The screen is torn off
Start walking
You have to walk......
When you learn to recognize "what is man?"
When you start to realize how difficult the reality is
Again and again called my name will go to Dargah
Kedgeree will give me my name
But I can not get back again
How difficult can the human heart be
As if tough rock stone
Did not understand today?
You did it
But why often in his own soft heart
Do you suffer so much?
Why are you so skeptical to bite yourself?
How terrible it is to get rid of people
You can not learn today?
You have learned
Why then why
Why then
Can not you be strong? ''
On different issues
After the various wounds were created
And decided
Own unbeatable
Painter Onle
Do not let you burn
Your efforts to be happy for you.
You still did not see the reality;
How did you cry after crying?
Last night did not sleepy;
Could not sleepy
He cried very silently.
He never wanted to cry you;
And why did you cry?
Have you ever thought about that?
There comes a time
People sacrifice their favorite things
Just as Ibrahim gave his beloved son a sacrifice.
The world is underground
So here is the emotional crowd
The reality comes back often
There are many reasons for sacrificing their favorite things.


Am I Wrong?
I repeatedly say to the heart, "I am wrong, I am wrong!" The heart repeatedly tells me, "You do not, you are wrong! ''

Will not be seen
Suddenly we stopped at the last page;
Wherever the cloud stops on the mountain!
There is a frost on the fridge,
The rain rises every day in the morning and shook silently.
Just like a broomstick,
Where all the fish stops are waterless pond;
I'll stand there every morning alone,
I know that all will come, only you will not be seen....


Slave of the Devil
If the star goes away;
The devil is scared
Running rushing,
His servants in this town
Reigns
An Eye of Illuminati
The trembling shivering in winter
And singing different songs;
A piece of blanket is very cold
Hey poor party
To stay comfortable
Let's move to Satan's team.


I was a broken glass
I was a glass, and broke in a variety of ways.
Blood in broken glass it's severed heart.....


Going to die now
I'm going to die now
The soul is going down;
The boat floats on the Spirit,
Everything is going away from the body;
And I, I will not come back!

Mudane Football
After kicking everyone else, I guess, I'm a Mundane football!


Block To Making dreams
People can not sleep after crying, If he can not sleep, he can not make dream


The Train
The train that stopped at midway; That's death


God and My Dad
I never asked for anything from God, and God never gave me anything like my father. The difference between my father and God is that, my father was stunned by the birth of me. And God did not cease to create the punishment in the Hereafter will be rewarded!


My blocked Happiness
I feel painful Hundreds of millions of illnesses die of happiness


My syllabus
My syllabus has been burnt;
Do not read any bad love poem story book
No need spectacles available;
I do not fear the extra cost;
My syllabus is burnt-
Broke spectacles.

You are in Whirl of the earth
When you are in the whirl of the earth, when you look at the whole world, then you see the dull! Look at the left, there is no one next to you. Look at the left, or there is no one there. The God above is not with you. The parents of the house, they do not even understand you. Therefore, you do not have to stand up properly. now? Yes, your time of death is right now. But you know, you can not die. Because death does not want you!

I'm Afraid
When I look at the pocket, I'm afraid to look at you. After that, when I looked at the pocket last time, my own janaza taught myself.


Worst offender
The worst offender in the world itself seems to be, when my dear man is crying for my own sake!

I am
I only swallow the grief of beloved people. One day, the troubles that I have not digested, will answer everything.


****** laws
This is the world of law;
Here people, animals, insects and insects, and roads all obey the law.
All the leaders of the world, all the poets of the world, have enacted the law.
You are walking; You have to obey the law.
Eating; Laws must be followed.
You are enjoying marijuana;
You will be enacted, they will take you away and the police will beat you; You must be in jail!
You do not have freedom of speech; Your words and laws have been imposed! You will leave the excretion; It is also under the law.
Therefore, you can be a sea or wave; There is no law, no matter where you are,
you can be happy wherever you are.
After whipping you will be able to float which is happy.
So you become sea or waves.


Prayer
More than once I tried
My neck is not lowered!
There is a lot to leave outside the suburbs
I do not feel good..
Where did the god worshiped,
where did God go?
Why do not you see me?
What a weird mood
Worshiped on the Lord's footsteps
Every evening and every morning,
My Lord's worship is no more
Do not mind!
I lost;
This is an unbearable pain!
Why do not you see me?

I'm Innocent
What is my crime?
Why do that?
What is the blame?
Do you leave me?
I'm innocent
I'm so so
I'm innocent
I'm not at fault!
I love you
So always say true
I'm so scared
About our relationship
If it breaks
My death is bound!
I do not want
To die
Leave you
I do not want you to cry
I do not want you to be alone
I do not want to see water in your eyes
I want you
Smile
More
Get angry with me
And finally
Love me.
You can cry me
Hit as much as possible
As much as kicks me
Still I will not let you cry
Because I love you
If I ever see you weeping;
If I ever see you wandering,
I will destroy this world!
Oath By God!


-The End-

The spirit of man is like a five pointed star
and was so destined to have come this far.
Take his body stretched out and you can see
how the limbs resemble ends of a star to be.
It's also written he has been made in the image
of an Eternal God and shares the same lineage.

The spirit that resides as the essence in his soul
is the image of God and reflects a divine role.
We are reminded of this when we seek perfection
in all that is done which happens upon reflection.
Every individual soul made has five main functions
and comes with attributes bearing some instructions.

Each soul is endowed with a heart, mind, intelligence, ego and will
by which it's able to feel, think, reason, assert and to then act until
it has accomplished the purpose for which it was thereby so made
and realise it's own true essential nature being of an infinite grade.
This consciousness of individuality isn't its own real goal of course
but used as a means to reach that place of limitless being or source.

There are also five senses by which each soul can perceive
the world around it but which serve mostly just to deceive
because there are many things that are beyond what they glean
which are only the five objects in three dimensional space seen.
There are some other non-physical senses that come into play
when the individual soul becomes advanced in a spiritual way.

There are also five organs of action which are by man used
and thereby constitute those means for whatever is abused;
they are organs of speech, motion, manual skill and generation
along with that of excretion making up the five by numeration.
They're the mouth, feet, hands, reproductive ***** and behind
which are also seen in other creatures of a less evolved kind.

The physical body is also pervaded and sustained by cosmic energy
and within it performs five functions like that of subtle electricity;
as inspiration, circulation, assimilation, metabolism and excretion
similar to breathing, absorption, digestion, usage and elimination.
The sun, stars, space and the earth itself are the sources from where
man's body is able to acquire and utilise this energy for his welfare.

The earth and man's body are also comprised of five basic elements
which form the basis of all this world and are universal constituents.
In a descending order they are called: ether, air, fire, water and earth
and so it's with these five everything has been created or given birth.
The spirit in man's soul endows it with the limbs of a five pointed star
and by the Creative Sound and Light of God has brought him this far.
__________

Everyone utters empty nothings
Meant to maybe sound assuring

Keep your empty words of ‘wisdom’
Taken from the ground
Well-trodden by the crowds
Cliches discarded twenty-fold

Your words are turds
gleaned from ****-lined alleyways
Well traveled by

Pretend to want to try to help
Pretend half-assed to care
So you can feel good about your sorry self
So you can call yourself a good person

Don't you worry about me,
I'm not going anywhere.
Don't think it's up me;
I'm not getting anywhere.

Second-hand coffee grounds
and sediment on cold mugs.
Filthy dregs,
cold hands, not a sound,
quiet, like a powder keg.
Empty room but for me.
There she blows,
weak breeze, tiny window.


Don't you forget about me.
I don't want to go just yet,
but when I did,
it's much more hell
than if I stayed.
It's much more hell

And you won't talk to me or listen even.
Weak breeze, tiny window.
And I can't find the way to say:
'Talk to me, talk to me'

And everyone I used to know
won't talk to me no more,
but you don't know me.
You don't know me no more.
Talk to me, talk to me

before they made it public
they created the technology
to create living puppets
producing a tapestry of thoughts
manifesting
through the filter
of authentic bodies
and minds

their enchanting color of
implemented poison

they had two versions of the site
one the true one and one the public one

the true one was
showing the nature of a mind
in a spherical wireframe
3-d
projected space

that could make the motives
of a mind truly observable
using this hi-tech breakthrough
(hi-tech for their time only
i.e  their hi-techness is still
bound to time)
to/by/for those
word loving
businesspeople
and hired scientists
and hired technologists
and hired creatives
and hired psychics
and hired you name a profession I will say yes es  
of their time
working for them
for an almost literally ground breaking technology

a time bound technology that showed them an observable truth of the visualized data
a design driven and poached from the participants’ ingenious minds

the public version on the other hand
looked naively innocent
with an amateurish design
using a ready to go script
presenting an acceptable ‘good site’
based on personal motives
of hard working profiles
of young idealist sisters and bros
you know
like teddies pathetically hugging each other all the time

in reality though
snail shells were being used to implement
new poisons for the game
on unshelled ones
poisson as is French
would be prettier term
to describe
an honest organic fish farm
but alas

yet in reality that hugging was distant jutting

to purposefully run a game that entertained
pockets of those who had it boringly full only
to spend it for their own fun
but which they vowed as
for the salvation of their Utopian land made of the
illusion of their materialistic psyche same as their popcorns
which  continually justified as they  repeatedly asserted
these well learned set of words
on communal and cyclic ceremonies

oh my!
stealing intellects as such!
for the game!
game also runs in a closed circuit just
so no one can see it
they have all passed the Turing test
for the game
cool right
and it works

so who on earth could judge its’ ethics
once a reflection of their own minds
even unknowingly the game admins
once falling in love
with unshelled ones
may turn to the unshelled ones
like the prince falling for a Lorelei
they were warned continually
and then still some
willingly stayed so
in love
and disappeared in the game
loosing their body

well whatever
there is a place though
don’t believe me because I say there is
go find it yourself

from that place
the headquarters of this game
is nudely visible
with all of its partaking pawns
because it remains too low a place in the universe

yes there is a mountain higher
where lives
the inhabitants of the residence of the destroyer
who are a little bit bored by now and since some time already
and so the destroyer -they think- may as well decide to
wipe it off - hiring a well fit dragon that can gobble it all in one go
so that dragon excretion may benefit a famine of sorts in the universe
eating that kinda stuff
****  yeack  ARG hhhh
(or Namaste!)
:)

We pull
the Humboldt
out of the water.

Sometimes
they eat each other,
and we pull
up
shredded hooks
clotted
with white meat.

Sometimes
they
scramble
underneath the surface
and the film of water
separating us
from them
becomes pink and flashing.

We pulled up
a black
saucer
of an eye
one night.

It clung
to a hook
by
pink strings of optic muscle.

Our flashlights
put little continents of light all over its placid, black surface,
and I felt human sadness
some type of animal-human
empathy,
it ****** me up so much
that I threw the line overboard
again,
almost hitting Nestor in the face,
with an un-baited hook.

Our hauls
are getting smaller.

The carnivores
used to jump
into our boats,
slicking
the planks with an excretion
the consistency of placental fluid.

Now,
sometimes dusk burns
as
we yank
seaweed,
seagrass,
and
toilet seats
over the prow;
our bodies tenebrous;
straining with the line
like warriors
stabbing the sea.

waves of heat rise
distorting the land beyond
no movement, but buzzing flies
hard, dry straw was once a lawn –
cotton blend, stained and soaked
sticks to a sweaty back
nothing satisfies, leastly a Coke
old man neighbor suffered a heart attack –
oppressor sun, beating down
scorching all of my green land
pooling excretion, enough in which to drown
puddles in the palm of my hand –
small children hide indoors
not willing to risk Summer fun
unable to find street-walking ******
as we all cook in the unrelenting sun –
forecast gives no peace or quarter
instead condemns us to another night of no sleep
saw someone fry an egg on construction mortar
and make cookies on the dashboard of a Jeep –
it is simply not the norm
to crest 100 degrees in the Oregon, June
why, even the sprinkler  failed to preform
cooler weather cannot come to soon –

Every morning the first thing
is do the subtraction
washing the body
from head to toe
drain all the crud
excretion
combing to get rid of some fallen hair
then do the addition
shove one capsule after another
down the stomach
when it's getting chilly
and there's no color green in front of you
take some vitamin C
to allow some green herbage
grow in your system
when it's dawn
and the sun keeps bouncing up and down
take some Prozac to reduce
the bumpiness of the road
when i was little
i was like a pill
trying to get into the tummy
the tummy was big and strong
and i was thrown all over the place
now the pill found that i was its rival
and had to tame my raging waves
i began to obey
the pill releases tenderness
and soothes me with a sanguine
emoji
it conducts the music
of the forest glade
inviting the swans
with its verdant melody
and my fingers no longer want
to reach the sky
my eyes choose the tranquility
of a placid lake
i even started liking the sound
of putrefaction that is not of impulse
but of delight in transiency
now i submit to this tiny ruler
mysterious yet earnest
that resides in the horizon
i like the freedom
i don't object to its amiability
nor its autocracy.

Beer is my bottle of sleep,
and I drink enough sleep to forget,
that I'm all alone
I don't have a home,
and my soul will just die when im dead.

Just another scared boy waiting in his casket
or acting a part
its either action or nothing
the mind is divorced

bodies are useless
why accumulate them
in a sack of skin, the cage created
by a skull cap glass brains are wrapped in

transparent and thin
a sleep sheet sewn
by rapid eye movement

encased in bones
the alcohol is sediment settling in the bottom bodies brave colony, of other owners that forage for a loners last remnants of his ostomy.
cavity.
Bags of excretion excrete his thoughts, like lead does to mass graves of forties gulags.

Hes lost all compassion, extinguished all hope, hopes a disease the defectors misquote, cause cadavers decay, minds atrophy as muscle, senescence affects all and with age we buckle, the pressures too great, mans heart is too weak, the blood is no longer pumped to his feet, as he falls to his knees, the earth says “we are one”, as the worms eat the flesh of the casket they've dug.

From the physiognomy that bruises the vertical from Gaul; axiomatic metempsychosis elements were transferred from corporate primaries to third parties after the incipient expiration of Vernarth. This orphistic or mystical enchantment was brought by Wontelimar from Valdaine, emerging from insane drunkenness on the Ardeche Mountains, transmigrating euphony and medical justifications that were united with the reincarnated Helminth reminiscent of Vernarth. Such was a verme or worm that classified itself in his arm, munching in his elder veins elongated by parasites of commendable colonies and idiomatic, retro-emotional, and lyrical heights. Knowing that its baluster made capital letters in steps and life-giving questions by means of beads, and the oratic chain of Luccica's godmother that awakened in him translating expirative and presumptive psychophysical Zionisms of the eloquent millionth perspectivism of re-trance, when his putrid upright arm was recorded. and landing in his Abrahamic physical departure, dissociating his body, separating and alternating with his dexterous spiral Aorion tri-bracelet between the arm of Sagittarius and the arm of Perseus, liquefying into indissoluble modular stratagems for three bodies, plus the one that accompanied occupying triplets in posthumous individualities. Unconscious metempsychosis singularities brought the right-arm picking him up several times from the discursive hive of Wonthelimar, to convince him and tell him that he had not been with the Hexagonal Progeny for some time, without hindrance it brought him from Ardeche in lasting and concerting sets, gray senses looking at the valleys of Valdaine in pilgrimages towards the expectant Patmian plains. His expiration was reborn from the appendages of the water lilies that were grasped by the recessed lumbar powers and were trans-mentalized into related memories that subsist reincarnationist and degressive in plausive longing when re-advancing with revived intelligence, to indoctrinate themselves when raised from an emetic absolutist consciousness, and free from the greatest breaths of judgment is constant waste and reciprocity on shelves that started from an initial discipline already transmigrated, on skinned ardors eroding from astral ellipses in decayed individualities expiring in the Ego-Xifos (Ego-Sharps), that transpose the gorges that even through Hellenic geography that has not been shed by the blood of a Hetairoi.

Wonthelimar says: “hold on to my lazy arm and embrace Lazarus and his decayed fierceness! in different bodies I have seen your blood hang itself on banners with different super-life monarchies, in the germs of the Valdaine valley avoiding their retreat into fatuous materials that vilified the acrotera of your descended Megaron. Remarking on the genetic tricuspid, and emanating lineages of surviving to invigorate in the dexterous appendage of Aorion, which has to wail from the armpit of Betelgeuse with insensitive patches that mock to see him bleed for more than two thousand years without coagulating in possible anarchies more than nothing, before speculating from where the meager blindness of compassionate triple restraints has germinated, like a split Psychí or soul three times before predicting about the valleys and a castle, in infamous beatifies that do not bleed with me…, Wonthelimar ”. It is possible that they have sublimated us from the apathetic and brief radiance...?, Only in some moor or headland before tearing us from the banners or Vexillum of the inaugural that stuffs its already subsisted vehemence in spaces that are already acroteral, resting on peduncles in floral capitulars. And the immobile ones mold the support pustules…, the sap that runs horribly towards you and behind you! Incontinent to your dehydrated past lives redeeming subsistence and rubbing it, then excluding themselves healed properly from their wounds settled in muddy dreams of reviving them expired. Resulting from its origins from the Mysterium or Musterium as an enclave exacerbated in civil disproportions that were established since the Neolithic, without having sealed the doors of all the species that were trapped in the mysterious ice ages, based on ritualistic doctrines, through eager entities to obstruct lapses in the open air of the Spilaion Apokalypseo, having to be returned in possession of physiognomies and of all the enclosed species of the Neolithic Age ”. The bumblebees loaded with spherical honey in their legs, flew by the assembly of the warriors, crops, pastoral assemblages, and sharp stones that cut the wind that disturb the infants who fear the night sleep in the rough quarries that made them sedentary of venerable thermoregulated and climatic seats. Making of them and us revolutionary discoveries, for the interconnection of cooled flints in forests of Memento or Vademecun, to be erected on the megalithic plains, from where I come, rolling like a circular stone that moves the rocks of the World away from a near east, making some timorous and Asian oratics, I was able to get close to you Vernarth, who since the Neolithic I appear following you without giving up in the horticultural and in bovine frights. In this way, the water lilies and peduncles cordoned off the semoviente, full of thrones to conquer them, almost after having lost the calculations of the plasma that were being innovated from a Hetairoi by being reformulated from its incendiary essence, with such spasm being pardoned in the orbits of those who it the sustain themselves and wait for them bringing elaborate anonymous spare parts. Thus Wonthelimar spreads Greek fire over his golden breastplate, entering his transmigrated soul there, as fiduciaries of naphtha, sulfur, and ammonia in treats of previous and speculated oxygenated suitability that was transmitted in suffocating atmospheres by his deltoid when he detonated hatred in his eyelids.. His ***** inhibited signs of fear and hissing of freedom in fields of glory from a mythologized go diving between desolate flames of excretion, and throwing fuel that was not conceived of the same troubadour in the final redemption. (Among waters, minerals and ureas from the Hephaestus braze where dead proteins of cell warheads were stained, nitrogenizing acids that were from the common verb of Wonthelimar) ”.

The double V merged and intertwined forming an inverted double V, being the metric bulbar of Wonthelimar raising awareness of the upper and lower Vernarthian blocks, night falling towards a density of the same that moved raised on the north deck of the Eurydice ship, while everyone slept in the understand the "V" residing and originating from the annihilating biological duo of the immemorial of Vernarth and the Bumodos river, contemplating the suggestive salvage of sap after overcoming lymphomas in the battle of Gaugamela. Wonthelimar in tender loves misrepresented what he would achieve with his ****** healings next to the bold tributary, leaving in the vanguard and in starts from all the gigs that had condemned to Halicarnassus to be truncated next to infallible Canephores in disgrace to their executioners, branching all the branches of holm oaks of the articular of Wonthelimar that had been sheltering from the head, girdling itself in old debt collector and of souls in pain on the sleeping Nyons. The carriage perennially transshipped hesitant and unconscious individuals that the Falangists invited them to order, and spend the night shining in their Xifos in the bow with the inverted "V" to open up to the abundant exciting sea and find it in some Eden, being assembled in the primary kicks of an anonymous withdrawn, among all the cattle cooked with herbs that did not manage to sprout between one and the other.

The brawl is the symbiosis of the Megaron that exhibited the “M” united with the two inverted “Vs”, conceptualizing in Wonthelimar the vigil of early properties and phobias fragmenting in numerous odes in Thessaly, which were already re-agglutinating attracted from a patriarchal image from Hellas, under the pretext of Hellenistic consummations as a vocational institute race in primitives of Alexandrina Magnus, derived a few nautical miles to approach Patmos. The ship sailed across the sea, pre-conceptualizing the very universal being that revived in the Tracontero, looming out of all the waters like a nubile breaker that spoke to each other with words from Mageireméno Kefáli Votánon, "head cooked with herbs." Speaking in primitive alternate erudition and in tidal waves with more than twelve meters of territorial Argonauts making similar corvettes as the Gulf of Tarnetino, possessing distant and comparative sixty miles of the base that colonized Wonthelimar for new sources when encrypting in the Megaron. They persevere, captaining the Immature Polis that would be documented in Patmos, and in the town councils of the assemblage with ****** ceased battles, climbing towards a great cogitation height of the Megaron temple and the Theater of the Epidaurus, under the three darkness of the lilies bordering the Spilaion Apokalypseos.

In the hemicycle Theater of the Epidaurus, the stars worked for the nations of Asclepius together with Wonthelimar, thus healing emigrated musical sessions in palmistry and Parapsychology, where burdensome marks of interveners expectorated in vast impellers on the Koilones and in their softened and purged bleachers, from where each one was shouting towards all the winds and the advent of all the auditoriums absent by past and future generations, cheering lives in salvific voices, for those who cheer them with additional sheltered and attentive spectators from ultra-semicircular bleachers, not being on stage, better absent more than the actors of a drama to stay alive when they prowled towards the Diazoma, or corridor where all the spectators suffered from the same ordeal of Vernath's right arm and pectoral in decreasing lymphomas, in a greater capacity of incentive and saving grace. After this incident, Wonthelimar became a cause and effect of the Vernarth saga, but of transmigrated formality for the purpose of corresponding survival and of cellular restitution of what had died in him..., thus, everything would begin to be reborn towards a prop in a double aspect. The former commanders who were once his faithful servants would appear before this affront, to antagonize him and make him desist from joining as a Proceriato and Gigantum Form of the heroes of Gaugamela on Patmos.

The cliché "contrast" is black and white
But in reality there is much more to contrast:
Success and failure,
Night and day,
Living and thriving.

Once living the dream, now living the nightmare.
That's reality's contrast
Once being confident, now being sceptical.
That's reality's contrast.

The only visible light and dark contrast in reality is whether you cry during the day where everyone can see you and your sufferings or during the night where no one can see the real you and what you have come to.

Darkness might be beautiful, but only when you see glimmers of light.
You'll go out into the city and describe the darkness as beautiful just because of the light you see within the darkness.

Darkness allows you to blend in
Your inner darkness escapes as you cry
As you express yourself to the surrounding emptiness
Eventually you become covered with your emitted darkness.

Cry during the day and the viewers will look, glance, stare

laugh

And they know what you're going through?

You get drenched in darkness by the actions of others and your own excretion.

Darkness can house beauty, but darkness is slowly taking over.

Treasure is but a wanderer's lust
seeking utopia amongst the cosmic stars
it's year 2025, humanity's golden age of technology,
and a little white spaceship sets off to colonise Mars

nicknamed Nova 2, she boasts twin light-speed thrusters
polarised windscreens and a body of pure ceramite -
with a whoosh and a deafening bang
she smashes the sound barrier and streaks through the night

[#WHAM! BAM! FLASH!#]

at twenty-two hours they pass the moon
avoid a cluster of meteorite and space debris,
venturing deeper and deeper into the abyss of nothingness
their minds awestruck, their weary souls free

faced with a darkness that was un-shiftable, heavy
the danger of this mission increasingly daunting,
the longer they ignored their fears
the more the alien wilderness became haunting

what if they suddenly stopped dead
hit a snag or ran out of power?
They only had limited supplies
and the absent sun grew hotter and hotter by the hour

with the silence incessant
the sound of their own voices was obtrusive, grating,
food disgustingly vile, water going warm,
pressure steadily rising, there were concerns of the pilot fainting

--// "CALLING ELISA STARR TO THE CABIN PLEASE." //--

Elisa Starr was the cabin's dutiful cleaner
she'd clear away the astronauts *******, and occasionally mop up their sick -
for most of the crew had adapted to the lack of gravity
alas a few individuals hadn't been as quick

only 3 months in and the air had already grown stale
smelling of faint excretion and sweat,
aching and tired, she was always wiping down the interior windows
as the condensation steamed them up wet

what was the point in coming to space to slave away
when she could just do it on Earth;
once a valued member of society, a highly respectable mother of three,
surely this gruelling slavery she didn't deserve?

-//-----//-

The glowing red sphere of Mars approaches,
their destination finally (finally!) in range -
Earth was dying and this is a chance for us to start again

but isn't it already clear that we'll never change?

A wraparound escalier
Rosette's to wrap ourn Dud's
Rebels to society
Low and high class thugs

Epicurean phenomenon!!!!

A Cosmo's to macroism's
Plasma to holy force
Phatom's of ourn own opera
As yen to take its course

Homage to ourn own castle!!!


Excretion to bare ourn name
Wild gluttons
Barbarian untamed
Spelling eachother's name

In hieroglyphic memorandum!!!

We shalt travel beyond old Egypt
We shalt gun the pagodas
We shalt peep the shrines of gosha

As in giants we shalt become!!!


A convent well maketh many babies
Basilica's of the angels
Seraph's of treaties

Shalt we sign ourn admiration in blood?

Tis
Yes
Tis
Love!!!

Kirks to keep ourn reme
mberance
Friary's to be attentive
As the mutuality

Shalt be sweet mine aimer!!!!

No distance shalt be to far
No rancor to blow ourn hearts
No hot mustard to stain out tarts

As Madrid shalt wrap us between acacia posie's!!!!

Poetry
We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state,
we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art-
but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date,
oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart.

Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex,
of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind,
alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex,
is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined.

There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir,
now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination-
hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader,
who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation.

Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason-
we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome-
yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion,
from the eyes of the true daughter of Time, Science’s proficiency.

People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot-
well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild-
as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought,
startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia acts up- this is all rather mild-

Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip-
Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend,
Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip-
just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend.

Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon,
given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach.
Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on-
give it back in your own form of speech.

Through your own imagination feed poetry,
It hungers for your reality, though not reality-
procrastinate not- hopefully,
for your conceptions are your sanity.

Or rather is fancy your faculty- decide,
it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore.
It will excite-
whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor.

Poetry is not arduous -
just do not assume there is a secret door.
In fact poetry is quite virtuous-
Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.

Eurasian roller birds
exist in the ecosystem
just as
I do.

When approached by perceived danger
Fight or Flight is feigned
Only remaining--wreaking self-destruction
Our wild flighty friends
Literally ***** all over their beautiful shells
in order to save themselves from suffering

Half digested disgust exposed on wings
arrests their blue beaming light

Eight years ago you climbed up to my nest
and held out your incredible love
Regurgitation immediately followed
Along with green abusive fear
I clung to my cloak of worms and saliva
You just laid down beside me
in digested stench

Multiple times you cleaned me up
licked up the pain
Accepting the disgust,
Realizing quickly
You could not clean a lover who aches
to be bent over, pale skinned, and protected

I fled from nest
and you did too my dear
we couldn't sit with the offensive smell any longer
My wounds were too porous
my pain, invasive

The foul smell that the roller exerts
is also meant to alert the parents to flee back to nest
and protect their blue babe

When I cracked from shell and entered the world
with slit eyes
There were thousands and thousands of threats
and the excretion was not enough
I did not get eaten up by the masses
but I did allow myself to become what I had eaten
infantile self-protection morphed into
Pervasive self-destruction.

Our nest kept singing back to us,
Our love entwined and weaved in with twig
Like haunted batty lovers
Pulled back in to vile

Finally finally finally finally     fin a lly
I allowed the digestion
of your love
There were my bursting blue feathers
Sterile and glowing
Our nest safe from
my internal predator
And you, finally safe in my love.

Residual slime trails amongst
endless concrete plains
An excretion from yr mucus membrane
What an odd mechanic be your(yr) existence
Catching rays which may also be yr doom
And the shines glimmer on the dews
Shiny tip-tops: behold the grass towers
A city of stars along the lawns
Fowl performing melodies
Searching for a tempo, breaks the beat
Because it’s intrinsically
there, within, everywhere

One day
When they maketh love once they meeteth,
Their excretion
Shalt fall like midnight deluge

Heavy and hott!!!!

Dismantle me to thine savor and mine excretion,
As two cretions  copulating in superb intimacy!!!!!

A person with intentions to love forever only deflowers.
I was wrong, I remember
Those nights, it was nothing but plum kisses from left to right
And your nose tickling my stomach.
Zestful.

All the blood would flow to my head.
Making me pink with ecstasy.
The nectarous smell of excretion fulfilled an image
And our fingers--- they would intertwine as if you felt I would slip away.
Sensational… amorous!

You would look me in the eyes, I would
look you in the eyes, a message would travel
this is more than just coition. Well in my
noggin I believed that. You wear a good look, callous.
I’ve been dumbfounded.

I look in the mirror. I am a stranger
To what I see. I now feel stripped
From my myself, your pupils have seen it all. You did this.
I feel disgusted, letting you dine
As if I was a restaurant. Twiddling and fumbling
As if you were blind and I was braille.

I now bathe in regret. Scrubbing
Till I can no longer feel your touch.

We all love a good story.
With a good ending,
What is going on today is not a story
It is the reality, of mad virology scientist

Its headlines that read like this
“As Biden nears victory, worlds hopes
For end to American isolationism

It’s hard to say it out loud without breaking in to pieces
It’s easier to live a lie, rather than to surrender?

When the American truth needs no translation
The poet became an unhappy Ambassador,
he believe in worldly- views:  He pen is waiting
to announce the winner, (who would it be)

Nothing is final to a poet eyes and ears
But to a mad scientist: it says progressivism
To him man or language wasn’t created equally
Every poet should be responsible for his poetic language
while every scientists should be held responsible for his action.

As well as his emotion and excretion
either from the mouths, or from the other end
the smell, textures even the tones
as long as  the world  acknowledges
them as the Lever of things to come

it’s hard to say it out loud without breaking in to piece
where there is action they will be a reaction
Leadership money and power: is that what we voted for?
is this what we are dying for? Is that most people dreams?

Trumps , Biden supporters face off in Detroit
Headlines like these make a poet pen trembles..

"Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue
keeps his soul from troubles"
We are still waiting for the winner..

I know you don’t want to hear it
But one day you WILL
look up and think,
“****** Mom”
And then notice the rose-gold
Of a sunset

Just like I’m
Always taken by surprise
At how your eyes
Can change from green
to dusty gold then blue
Depending on the hue
Of your plain olive
or blue H & M T-shirt

I know you don’t want to hear it
But you will take that hike one day
With one or two or three
Progeny in tow and go
“Wow, inhale that smell”
Of wet outdoors and nature and life

Just like I inhale the boyness of you
Before you become a man
The spicy alcohol of cologne hiding
The musk of undone laundry maybe
The sweat, excretion of locker room,
Football, or track exertion

I know you don’t want to hear
About the birds and the bees,
Sticking your head out the truck window,
“Mom, please!”
But one day she’ll come for your heart

Just like you came for mine
that morning you were born

you can't write the word ****
or even speak it...
but you can glorify pornoraphy
in the "shadow"
of the crucifixion...
which is not a judeo-christian
take on things...
which is a purified
anglo-ßaß "becoming"...
a... "most welcome"...
it's what hinduism isn't to the hindu...
or what christianity is not
bound to the barbarian saxon:
with christian short-cuts...
the anglo-ßaß is a cosmopolitan
cyclops... and.. via paradox...
the numbing wordsworthian
naturalism of: the polite ape...
thumb contra thumb...
and the tiger's jawline with a dog's
K9 included...
the laconic anglo-ßaß...
conquers one island...
deems it befitting to conquer
a whole continent... or two...
while also retaining the airs
of any if all bothersome
"supperstitions" of the dangling...
the cackling of the "immersive"
cwowd: which is velsh...
for... nothing beside the jew:
beside the israeli...
and what is jerusalem...
which is what cracow is...
which is what warsaw is...
which is what tel aviv has to be...
to the later extent...
and they are the people who
can't say ****...
but can glorify the crucifix...
and celebrate *****...
but dare not...
the anglo-ßaß can substitute
words with images...
i can't substitute words with:
"missing words"...
or social norms...
or social conventions...
or whatever thesaurus plethora...

but please! please!
have your ***** in the shadow of...
the iron maiden,
the suicide hangman judas...
the crucifix...
all because... we are to weave
much less than wool allows!

to hide behind the "taboo" of a word...
but... those images feeding it...
behind the word?
the ***** in the shadow of the crucifixion?
Sappho...
laugh: when i dyslexia a word...
esp. of note: a italian loan:
but there's no need for me to cite
an italian loan...

- i have a television...
i too have... a lightbulb...
and a fireplace...
but... which of who's who...
is about to convene
for a story...
and who's the neon ghost?
who's going to be...
the conventional shepherd?

it is crude to say or write ****...
but... it's ok to...
celebrate...the crucifix...
the hanging...
oh god the celebration of
*****!
but no "****":
**** everywhere and not "elsewhere"!
but we can celebrate...
the stock... the stake...

i wonder...
if the symbolism bound to be found
to be behind "god"...
to have been crucified...
or to have been impaled?
i wonder which is worse...

apparently being crucified...
doesn't celebrate being sacrificed for ****: either!
when... it does happen...
when being impaled on a pike!

but writing ****: oh no...
dyslexic agony aunts of the "proper"
anglo-saxon testimony of:
keeping with "scatological"...

relating to or characterized
by an interest in excrement and excretion:

talk of **** is what is scatological
versus what is ontological...
talk of ****?
william f. buckley jr. allen ginsberg
the "avant garde"...

to have to disguise *******...
but that's ******* hiding behind ****!
how horrid!
when you can talk *******...
but there's also:
talking about *******...
while having to... nonetheless...
hide behind taking a ****...
or what's the better part
of a conversation...

formal language... informal language...
instagram haiku poetics...
atticus pro atticus...
modern poet...

now? now i feel like jerking off...

Urbia
The city leaves little starshine.
Shampoo gurus and strands and strings
Play the song they sing.
In the place we try to replace,
Withering away, building new buildings on top.
But the crystal city seems to unravel
Like a child’s shoelace.
The streets drown the eyes,
Like the hair of a lover
Who pulls in close to the face.
Don’t think of it. Don’t think of it.

Among the dogs and dying things
There's a long droning monotonous hum.
All syllables of thought and parables of the past
Poured over with Summer Sundays
And the future grew through a crystal glass.
Yet retracted across its own bones by Wednesday
With all time on a woman's fingertips that tap at a screen.
The thoughts unsaid and yet seen
(For who dares to say)
Sizzle softer with another yesterday.
Afterall, the calendar unfolded
And the story it told said
The time will come.



So I summoned a thousand nights
And sent them yonder into yesterday.
Crusading and fading for an empty grail.
That last prize lost
Was beautiful the way fantasies tend to be.
Agile

Her face drips the drops to drench
And covers the mind
As though drawn across *******'s blinds
As the excretion of my gender bears a stench.
She leaks over my mind.
Let this image fade.
Let the ledge invite.
Let her mascara masquerade cascade in the tears on our faces.
Yet her flavour is the delicious stench
That covers my mind, filthies and fills it
With desires and a face.
Perhaps her face sullied with no sea of tears.
Perhaps the rain and lilac ridden sky
Left her not to cry, cloudless and clear.

Look back to the city, you fool.
There in those great cubicles
A thousand stand on ledges
Ready to fall.
But no one would know,
For they hide behind windows,
Working away in those offices.

Forget these harsh things, look to the world that is
Among the dogs and dying things.
There's a long droning monotonous hum
That escalates the scattered, sordid and rancid
To a pattern previously faded,
Dwindling and outshone beneath a thousand starlights
Or simply her sweet semblance in the night.

courtesy prescription laxative AMITIZA

and found (me) zee papa pooped out,
thus embarrassing communiqué I post,
a reasonably rhyming poetic shout
to air grievances
concerning outsize bowel movement
hoping (fat/slim chance)
Mike Rowe happens tubby about,
though shadow of doubt
he will avail himself.

**** eyes zing thee
nightly dump for yesterday
January 31st, 2022 - whereby
plying plunger in vain, cuz suction
barely helped obstruction give way
I nearly lost me life and limb oy vey
oh my dog, the same asinine outcome
which spurred poet to get underway
matter of fact, a replay

of excretion almost occurred today
and thus an attempt to describe
a tragicomic scenario
regarding bowel movement size of subway
an urgent message to maintenance person,
yours truly must relay
overflowing ***** nearly
found yours truly quay

king, yet impossible mission arises to portray
unsightly situation, the
juvenile elements of harried style
I hate to overplay
odoriferous subject matter
nsync with constipation
since laxative delineates,
expedites, facilitates,... née

posits heavy load emanating out ******
quite amazing what smelly waste exits out me
necessitating captain my captain
to signal emergency mayday
posterior end, a dime size orifice,
which malfunctioning sphincter muscles
one moost never be lackaday
'though kids and adults

laughed back in the day,
if and/or when Danny Kaye
tactfully poked fun
at such critical ****** phenomenon
equally important as a jackstay
to keep afloat body electric
'curse with auxiliary accouterments interplay
analogously precise as

Swiss made timepiece
said system responsible
to expel ****** toxins
upon which sitting on porcelain throne
one can softly utter hooray
thankful to experience relative pleasure
until one becomes feeble minded,
whereat sixty plus shades of gray

matter allows, enables, and
provides enjoyably foray
into the bathroom, which entranceway
hoop fully not barred nor off limits
cuz that primitive urge one best not delay
lest one requires lower
gastrointestinal intervention
especially if blocked up

***** matter turns to clay
unless of course one doth
cause damage and betray
respect toward well
oiled human machine
exercising and eating healthy
avoiding backside skeleton musculature issues
yes... I reckon during twilight years
control over bowels doth slip away.