"experimental" poems
Trump invades Nicaragua;
lights a powder keg to the
relief of everyone; let's get
on w/ it; change the world;
otherwise Nicaragua threatens
to become another Syria w/
Sandanista vs. Sandanista &
drug lords & communists;
mercenaries; contractors
& experimental weapons;
welcome to a world that is torn
completely in two to everyone's
relief for the sheer catharsis;
that is what frenzied freedom
looks & feels like; touches like,
smells like, ***** & eats like;
the madman in the marketplace
is the last person who can spell
Bourgeoisie & Ancien Régime;
Disestablishmentarianism &
Nouveau riche; time & technology
will turn the soil of psychology
churning up some never before
seen creature; mankind is suicidal;
this new Being will have no such
concept; coming in & out existence
like walking through a door; time
is meaningless running in countless
waves in all directions; space is
flexible like clay; women & men
create each other to the limits of their
imagination; Newton laid the foundation
& Einstein painted the ceiling; Pascal,
Hawking; Leibniz & Nietzsche & every
poet that ever lived or never lived; every
celestial siren & songstress who whispered
in a magical scribe's ear & he scratched
the miles & hours & places & people there;
thus, it began somewhere far out in space;
but they've been there all along; peaceful,
loving, able to shape-shift to perform
pleasurable functions in accordance w/
mankind's selfish wishes; mankind thinking
it's putting one over on the new species,
still finds itself bogged down in Nicaragua
long after Trump has built his Presidential
Library & joined the aliens like everyone
else; the poor Nicaraguans & Guatemalans
& Hondurans fighting it out to the death;
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
*i think, you should stop going to italy, for one, oh **** me, keep going on hedonist piss-fuck fests to places like mallorca, but stop going to italy, you're making my stomach ache from laughter, with what you come back with, the so-called "innovations"; somehow i'd just poach my cauliflower, and drizzle it with fried breadcrumbs, and serve it as a side-dish to fried eggs (2), and some tatties; for goodness sake, even cauliflower cream soup makes more sense, garnished with some fried chorizo!*
first it was avocado on toast...
who the **** puts avocado on bread?
i can imagine putting it in pasta...
but on bread?
hey, what the **** does
the acronym f.a.d. mean?
i don't know, and i won't google it...
o.k. avocado on toast...
nothing near guacamole,
but fair enough...
but what i discovered... pushes
the button where i turn into a fox laughter
(fuchslachen) -
i couldn't stop...
you can find it in the weekend
section of the saturday times newspaper...
written by nicola m.
cauliflower and mozzarella pizza...
you have to be ******** me...
cauliflower? on pizza?
one of my housemates at university told
me an anecdote:
i was in a restaurant once,
and asked for a pizza with no cheese...
he continued:
and then the head chef came out and
asked me... are you, insane?!
a bit like: bread... but no butter?
and i thought i was insane eating a watermelon
today, whole,
the red pulp, and the outer layers including
the skin included, allowing myself
a gorilla imitation cameo gimmick...
but i thought i was mad...
but there's avocado on toast...
and now... cauliflower on pizza...
it's a ******* side-dish!
wait, don't tell me... you're going to put
some potatoes onto the pizza the next frizz
comes along... right?
how about beetroot?
thankfully, if i have some
wacky ideas in terms of culinary escapades,
they happen, drunk, after 12a.m.,
and i'm the scientist, and the experimental rabbit
2-in-1...
a newspaper column?
apparently, you get one, putting avocado
on toast...
or cauliflower on a pi-zzzzz-ah...
to be honest, even though i haven't tried it,
grilled aubergines on a pizza could work...
the toast? marmite and cheddar...
english people should stop glorifying holidays
in italy... they're ****** cooks...
an italian would just look at
a pizza with cauliflower and say: cosa?
i'd suggest heading to scotland first,
and picking up the vibes from some haggis.
**** me...
avocado on toast...
caulifower on a pizza?!
now i can die happy, 'appy,
clapping: encore!
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
I was in trouble
And oh boy did I know it
I came home drunk last night
the hangover showed it
As I crawled out of bed, headache splitting my eyes
I saw my wife with that "I love you but I'm going to **** you" vibe,
but she held it in and on her face a look of concern was her guise
I hurled for about an hour
then my stomach settled down
I looked for my wife
but she was nowhere to be found
I drank some water, and soon after hit the floor
before I slipped into unconsciousness
I saw my wife come through the door
I woke up, and took in my surroundings
I was in a dark , medium sized room
caged in, and the floor was concrete..
And in walked my wife, with a crop and a corset on that hourglass body, she looked ready for a pounding
I wondered.. what the hell was going on?
how did she know I wanted to try this...
when did I let it on?
She walked into the room, I was tied to the bed,
but before whacking me, she surveyed me instead
She walked slowly around me
My eyes drinking in her features,
She whacked me in my chest and said
Look here boy, I'm going to tease you
She slid the corset down, showing one ****** off,
I was now hard where I once was soft
She licked herself slowly
Me getting aroused all the more
I knew my wife was the experimental type
but even she didn't know what was in store
She slid those ******* down
My God she was so wet
She slid her finger inside and said
"Nope, you can't have this yet"
I shook with anticipation. Pleading with her through my eyes
She remained adamant and continued weaving an arousing web, all truth here, I can't tell any lies.
She slid my pants off my legs
And threw them to the floor
She got on top of me and yelled
today you're my personal manwhore!
with that I found myself inside,
bouncing on my cxck
I had never seen her this aggressive
it came off as quite a shock
After an hour and hundreds of welts later
it Appeared she was done with me
that's when she layed next to me and whispered
"Happy Anniversary"!
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
Don't be frightened if you hear me at the door...or even if you think you see me at the window. Pretend it's a trick of the light...or another one of those bumps in the night.
The spirit is strong and, I'm finding, quite playful in its first few days, weeks, maybe months... whilst waiting for another 'mission'.
You know...finding my feet - or maybe wings?
But I'm not likely to phone. E-mailing was not my thing! And texting? You’re kidding! I was not a big fan!. All that predictive stuff...If you’re too quick it ends up nonsense...all wrong...not for me.
But I will be sending messages through the wind in the trees or maybe the surf on the rocks and sand. Wherever we walked together listen out for me there. I've always felt that I'd be able to do that.
You know...whilst finding my feet - or will it be wings?
And always, from now on...help spiders out with a glass and a card...
take care not to squash their legs. You never know what happens next. And, anyway, another time, but long ahead I hope, it could be you. Although, I always fancied I would come back a human - like this last time round.
Being me was good. And they say, ...you know...out there...
that you go back to a time when you were at your best.
For me that means being younger, fitter - So, a wander on a sun warmed or breezy beach. A Salsa dance, or this Zumba lark...or doing a painting. I liked that...
But definitely...fit...Before IT... You know...I’m looking forward to finding my feet, my wings.
So...you may see me - out in a crowd, or walking along a country lane, incongruously between villages.
I'm already working at appearing for longer and for being more than just a familiar, fleeting, scent or smell. Until I get the calling to make a full life of it again...I'll maybe pop in and out of your life (to let you know I can) ...just in an incidental, experimental kind of way; but then only from time to time.
It's quite tiring...You know...finding your feet...your wings.
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 6:22 AM UTC
Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.
Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
A bridge from colloquial to courtly fare
A span where idealism and fantasy pair
A railway to the existential realm; celestial lair
A conduit through which rational discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate, and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty; sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on civility and decorum
A literary ***** a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct; extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by an idiomatic core
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
I listen to music that matches my mood
The music is like color to my senses
Pink: A happy tune
Blue: A sad song
Green: A song with lots of energy
Purple: A song that makes me feel joyful
Black: A depressing tune that I cry to
Mixing them would be like a rainbow after the rain
A mixture of happiness, joy and pain, what remains is mood music, let it play
I sometimes want to play something with a rocking beat, to clean to, to make the time fly by
Other times I want to really personally connect with the lyrics, when I need to cry
There are times when I will listen to some oldies, i will not lie to reflect on days gone bye
There are times I’m in the mood for a country tune
In my lifetime , i have often sung the blues when the problems of life knocked me down
I try to brush off the dust and get back up and listen to something I can dance to
I sometimes don’t want to hear words and like to listen to Classical music, like Bach
I sometimes will listen to pop
I also like some experimental electronic music
created by a friend
I Love music and may the Love never end
I sometimes need to unwind after a tough day and listen to something inspirational
I take off my shoes and my socks and listen and relax or just dance in my own unique way
I say whatever my mood I Love the tunes and I like to play it Loud and be swept away
It is all Mood Music , Let It Play!
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
(An experimental piece)
Dark coffee
overdrive
Give it to me
hot
or
ice cold
with
cream
or
pure
midnight black
reality it seems
to speed by
it's so fast
I don't even have to
try
I am
stimulated
excited
trembling
brave and ready
but even
coffee
pales
to what
you do to me
when you wear that dress
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
Some get that way by playing it safe,
memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules,
some get there by cutting seams,
lost in purposelessness, partaking of
ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything
that's buzzy enough,
some find their sweepstakes in curls,
in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath,
some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept
determination, some divorce their wives,
some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals,
some review albums and cut down the ********
some write love stories for our grandmas,
our moms,
our ex-girlfriends,
some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging,
some in bomb threats,
some find it in supremacy,
others in melting pots,
some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats,
some in **** ***
some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs,
some when they have hit the bottom rung,
some by rationalizing,
boosting themselves above half-wrongs,
to coast on the half-rights,
some by breaking up,
some by declaring war,
only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars,
some kids dance to experimental music,
some write blogs about capitalism,
some find it kicking it with bitter vegans,
others while murdering their parents,
but everyone is a winner,
everyone is right,
everyone has earned the paycheck,
the vacation,
the **** wife,
and the key to eternal life.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 8:03 AM UTC
in the summer before
everything ended,
we went to an art museum
that had entire rooms showcasing death
and you pulled me away before I could admire the human composition
stains, melted into bronze silhouettes, because
what if I thought it looked ugly
what if I figured out
I didn’t actually want to **** myself
and instead just wanted to escape you –
stains of strawberry juice around my mouth I thought of
as blood and you thought of
as lipstick
I prettied myself for
suicide , I scratched maps into my thighs – little guides of where a
knife would go
little hopes that if I saw the death display
maybe I would have known.
for years
it was all experimental. I watched pieces of us
come and go like art exhibits, you watched me as if I was nothing but
a work in progress
that soaked up so much paint I could
not help but look like you when it was through. I was
a child, was
impressionist (impressionable –
now your thoughts persist
as human composition stains – happily, I am alive
and you will never be dead enough.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
In seductions of ******
wisps of alarm, tongues fly
catching fire, their croaks
are red-headed matchsticks.
Intrepid hourly, the
blanketed white harassed
the appointed locum, the
cashmere buds of tobacco.
The open mouths adhere to
the King of Limbs, the
experimental corsages that
— bloom —
into existence.
There is a space between
all the noise where
my fetal poise can reside,
*forever holding,
holding on,*
forever holding,
holding on.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
How do you swindle the light?
This would be the greatest grift.
An ongoing experimental conn
where we all remember,
who the mark(s) is,
pretending, just in case,
behind the curtain,
sleight of hand,
behind the back,
if there is no wizard in the back seat,
just in case...you'll tell the kids:
'it was all for them.' So they could sleep.
Childhoods are just safe houses for hope.
In play roles come easy,
in assortments, and unpackages, separate;
but everyone knows the rules,
their part, they remember
that fairness is sacred to play.
Some games get played
and some gamers’ play is accidental.
The game like the carnival is vacuous,
inhaling all into its eye,
exhaling into its calm, swindles like a carney,
jettisoning all into the extinction of gratification.
The mystery lies in the conspiracy.
System can beat game, house, odds,
conn the conn and you can go home a winner.
The Universe is a big casino, you see.
And all you have to do is get up from the table,
cash in your chips, and figure out where your car is.
The house always wins, you’ll say.
But therein lies the reason we play.
Which you're sure to figure out in the lot,
cramped delineations garner thought,
you'll realize that therein lies nowhere.
The conspiracy lies in the abyss,
A place where villagers lose their cattle,
Costumed & uniformed, singing gray prayers.
Crop circles are diasporic clusters of hope.
Where science fiction invented the cold war,
Between ghosts created by radio waves.
A mass hallucination produced by trauma?
Dellusion v. Illusion
Nurturist v. Naturist v. Projection,
As long as it’s a weapon!
Destination unknown-
But just in case, let’s create something that can destroy us all.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
Anxiety quelled by more medication
and an anxiety class where I learn
it is all about fight, flight, freeze and saber tooth tigers
and every symptom can be explained scientifically and
tabulated and put on a balance sheet where insignificant
experimental mortals like me can put check marks
in little boxes and the totality of my existence
can then be clearly defined and understood by someone
wearing a plastic name card around her neck announcing PhD.
The room has no windows, only a hand written poster
from an AA meeting and stale air and three anxious women
out of the ten people who are supposed to be here.
No one knows, but I am in boot camp inside my head
It is the mindfulness of anxiety
anxious thoughts, thoughts of you are to be
immediately exterminated
Perhaps the hand sanitizer that is available at every corner
in this place will help
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
i never dream of you
because
no one else has ever made more
experimental love than you
love more beautiful
- it makes dreams look like little tiny fruit flies
so earlier this day the girl asked
what i was dreaming about last night
i said; woman
my dreaming starts at first daylight
for i know that this day will be one of many
i'll spend with you, darling
(ironic me; lately i have been dreaming of I
having the chance to say this)
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Arrival
Upon my arrival, I whisper-walked
Erasing my steps like a broom
I avoided bottlenecks and having my back to the door
Soft voices and sweet
Made me cringe
So did people who had no smell.
What was I, they wanted to know,
Such a delicate and precariously balanced thing,
Doing at the Crossroads?
Even the smallest and most inconsequential among us,
Could knock you apart
with a soft, experimental tap.
I’m sure that when they were children
They broke all their toys.
And I’m a living doll.
Perhaps I should, but I don’t want
To creak open the hinges of their faces.
There are things worse than skulls and brains.
Such as humorless laughter.
Indifference. Intentions.
And voids.
What you must realize,
What you need to comprehend.
Is that.
At times like this,
A girl would give anything
To be ugly.
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
Last night I was
experimenting empty body with twin bottle.
Spewing colors out of mouth,
like it's a god **** celebration.
Whispering "happy birthday"
for every friend I've had to put in the ground.
Whispering "happy birthday"
for every time I've wished I was one of them.
I was mumbling existence
until I became unconscious scientist,
collecting data,
hoping if i continue to announce births
that we'll all be born back to flesh
that feels like home, that sings
like porch light wind chimes
that stops the announcements of deaths.
Or at least, strings together
those who want to cut their ties.
Happy birthday.
Research shows my edges
were strung a little too tight,
holding needle in hand,
i plucked away the stitching
until I was all unraveled, stay spilling over
at the seam. Everything seems low.
6 feet under, making poppy flowers
out of freshly turned graves. Happy birthday.
My vice is bath tub overflowing with drunk bodies,
leaking love into the crevices of laughter.
Testing out the theory that arms
can be used as medicine.
Turning experimental phases
into investigations. You know,
people can be placebos too.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black
holes.
It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel
account for nothing at all.
$30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue
Committee)
$29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish
pond (Heifer International)
$69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy
Corps)
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
Malaria)
20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is
quantized; that is, it comes in
multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e,
approximately equal to 1.602
x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have
charges that are multiples of
1/3e).
Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in
the novel, succeeded in
poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on
the contrary, by its nature,
cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous
with poetry, and that applied
to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with
poetry. --Alberto Moravia
Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel
around which the universe turns and language is the soul
walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war.
"Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all.
For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched."
As are words.
Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry
begins Row, row, row your boat gently
down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra,
irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
**** Sapiens we call ourselves, rulers of this Earth,
Intelligent and civilized, but what is all this worth?
We're working hard to conquer space—we landed on our Moon.
We better solve our problems here, or soon we will face doom.
New industries and factories constructed every day,
And poisoning the air we breathe—is this the price to pay?
Energy sources are shrinking—what happens when there’s none?
Will Man of Earth ever learn to work with Nature as one?
Some in this world are starving still, while others hoard their gold.
Intelligent and civilized, at least, that's what we're told.
We cure disease with drugs that may cause sickness as result—
How many dearly paid for this ‘experimental cult’?
We have become a plastic world where everything is fake,
From the foods we eat to how we look—when will we awake?.
We're civilized we tell ourselves, but fight our fellow man,
If only we could solve world stresses through a better plan.
With government corruption and morality sinking low…
The price of progress we may say—is this the way to grow?
We have upset Earth’s balanced ways, destroying Nature’s scheme—
We’re intelligent and civilized—is it all a dream?
Will we ever walk on Nature's path, take her by the hand,
Restore the beauty meant to be on Earth, our dying land?
**** Sapiens we call ourselves, rulers of this Earth,
Intelligent and civilized, but what is all this worth?
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
as graphic as yours
a slowly lifted skirt
a hand on her thigh
gliding up to her bare heaven
bare ******* with tense ***** *******
gasping sounds cries of yes yes yes
her hands on my man pride
stiffening in the limelight
a little more risque a spank on a bare
cute well formed ***
a ******* in the backseat
a tongue teasing a small cute slit
two girls and a ******
or two midgets and one twelve inch ****
the words loud raw pelvic **** me
yes yes yes
or is it more ***** to show the latest massacre
in a school 26 dead, or
a misguided american "Smart" bomb wiping out six doctors without
borders and 50 Syrians
or the lies of our politicians promising us the world so
we may vote for them , or a young girl who is naturally
getting experimental getting pregnant and giving up her baby for adoption because she did not get education or protection. And then she gets HPV and dies at fourteen from cervical cancer
or is it just me that thinks the nightly
news and the stumping of a bunch of lying hypocrites is more ******
than a bare ******
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
These lines experimental but elemental to your mental,
My creativity,
Will never submit to the minimal,
Isotopes subliminal penetrating the simple,
Similes send criminals to infiltrate your biochemicals,
Infected stanzas with stacked syntaxes sickness,
My subconscious semiautomatic and stimulated,
Formulate semblances of Leviathan illuminated,
It's a tragedy my soul's has become a victim of gravity,
Now my temples been raided,
My nirvana's disseminated,
And I've contemplated annihilation of self,
Picturing my end as a senile senior citizen,
With no one by my side,
My mind can't complete a sentiment,
Remembering has become my source of a smile,
But it's making me even more curious to taste the end of this projectile,
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
The Psychedelic Deli
Is sometimes in an alley.
It can seem accidental,
Some of it experimental
All completely experiential.
There is no shop, no store
You must have a friend
If you really want to score.
Everyone is different
Under new management.
Let me make this clear;
Anything you want,
Everything you want is here.
From champagne to beer
All the time, every year.
You can send out for *****
And have nothing to lose.
Only just all your money,
But you may think that funny
Once you’re getting chummy.
So mostly bring your own
And don’t drink it alone
Because it’s best to share
That’s true just everywhere
If you have the grace to care.
The Psychedelic Deli
May sell wares ***** nilly
They’ll charge you indecently
As stuff they made just recently
Must be paid for immediately.
They have this and that
And if you pass the hat
You’ll go on a trip with no ticket.
You surely don’t want to miss it.
But there’s always a bit more to it.
So, you better be up to it
Because many more blew it
And ended like a fish on their belly,
Their minds about as stable as jelly,
Shopping at the Psychedelic Deli.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
Everyone loves to talk ****
Poets
Activists
Novelists
Academics
Professors the most
Summon them up
get a consensus
(the kikuyu are a model
not the annoying vermin of the jewish suburb)
Fear is the core.
America,
Fear is yr core.
Capitalism and all its intricacies
and its lies
its imminent failure
(anorexics in red shirts laugh in hell)
Marx and Chomsky
and Precious
Open a window-
crack that-
BREAK OPEN A WINDOW IN THE WALL
let the mist leave
it will only consume you if you learn to use it instead of oxygen
A clear room will be a safe space
to paint
and film
and write
and dry off
To talk a los otros sobre Spanish y la omkeer
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC