Umiibig akong matapat ang puso,
sa iyo, O Sintang pithaya ng mundo.
Dilag na bulaklak sa harding masamyo,
sinuyo’t pinita ng laksang paru-paro.

Tinataglay nila’y mararangyang pakpak,
subalit ang nasa’y tanging halimuyak.
Iba sa bagwis kong luksa ang nagtatak,
sa mata ng iba’y isa lamang hamak.

Ako’y dahop-palad, niring mundo’y aba,
sa utos ng puso, ikaw’y sinasamba.
O! ang saklap naman, umagos ang luha,
pagkat lumilihis ang ating tadhana.

At niring landas ta’y lalong pinaglayo,
nang ikaw’y nabihag ng hari ng mundo.
Buong taglay niya’y di tapat na puso, 
tanging hangad lamang ang kagandahan mo.

Sinta ko ano pa ang aking magawa,
kung sa ngalan ng Diyos kayo’y tinali na?
Daloy ng tadhana’y mababago pa ba’t,
panaho’y balikang ikaw’y malaya pa?

Bihag ka na ngayong walang kalayaan, 
hawak ang mundo mo ng lilong nilalang
Wari'y isang ibong ang lipad may hanggan,
at ang yamang pakpak, dustang tinalian. 

Paano O! Sinta yaring abang buhay?
Ikaw’y tanging pintig nitong pusong malumbay.
Kung ikaw ang buhay ng buhay kong taglay,
Sa iyo mabigo’y sukat ng mamatay.

Subalit nasa kong lumawig sa mundo,
sapagkat buhay pa niring pag-ibig ko.
At ikaw O! Sintang namugad sa puso,
napanagimpan kong pinaghintay ako. 

Sa harap ng hirap na di masawata,
tanging asam ko’y lalaya ka Sinta.
At itong pagtiis ay alay ko Mutya,
mula sa puso kong nagdadaralita.

Maghihintay ako sa pagkakahugnos,
sa tanikala **** higpit na gumapos,
sa kalayaan na lubhang nabusabos,
at mariing dulot, galak na di lubos.

Ang aking paghintay akay ng pag-asa,
lawig ng pag-asa’y kambal ang pagdusa.
At ang dukhang pusong batis ng dalita,
tila pinagyakap ang pag-asa’t luha.

O! aking minahal ako’y maghihintay,
kahit walang hanggang paglubog ng araw.
Magtitiis ako sa gabing mapanglaw,
hanggang sa pagsilang ng bukang liwayway.

Yaong sinag nito’y ganap na tatapos, 
sa dilim na dulot ng dusa’t gipuspos.
Sinag na tutuyo sa luhang umagos, 
niring mga matang namumugtong lubos.

Yaong pamimitak ng mithing umaga,
araw na mabihis ng mga ligaya,
ang buhay kong abang tinigmak ng luha,
mula sa kandungan niring Gabing luksa.

Maghihintay ako sa gitna ng dusa, 
kapiling ang munting kislap ng pag-asa.
Magtitiis kahit sanlibong pagluha,
hanggang sa panahong muli kang lalaya.

Maghihintay akong di hadlang ang pagal, 
kahit ang panaho’y lalakad ng bagal.
Magtitiis ako pagkat isang tunay
itong pag-ibig kong sa puso’y bumukal.

Maghihintay kahit dulong walang hanggan,
na pagdaralita’t mga kapanglawan
Kahit di tiyak kong muling sisilang,
ang bukang liwayway na tanging inasam.

©Raffy Love Canoy |May 2019|

Naglalaro tayo,
Pero hindi parang biro.
Mayroong taya,
Pero hindi alam kung sino.
At walang tayo,
Pero sana’y parehas na manalo.

Sisilip ang pusong walang pagkukunwari.
At sa tikas at dunong ng iyong pananampalataya,
Pawang gabay sa nauuhaw na sandali.
Ang baryang sentimo’y itinabi nang kusa,
Pagkat umuusbong ang pagsinta
Sa para sanang taglagas na paghinga.

Nais kong siyasatin ang maamo **** mukha
At ang pagkukumbaba’y batid kong patas at di ulila.
Iyong mga kamay, yapos silang mga uhaw
At ang tula’y binalot ng pakikipaghimagsikan.

Dukha ang pag-ibig ko,
Bagkus hindi mamamalimos.
At sa mala-larong pag-iibigan,
Magwawagi rin tayo.

Sapat na ang nalalabing mga sandali’t
Armas nati’y ibibigkis pa rin sa Langit.
Pagkat hindi lilisanin ang Harding may bukal ng pag-ibig.

Tataya ako’t hindi ka muna gigisingin
Sa himbing ng paghikbi’y, ako’y gapos ng katotohanan.
Sinta, hintay lamang; pagkat matatapos din ang laro
Gigising tayong muli’t bibihisan ng pagsuyo.

on edges of swing set of summer of child
I grow -- a rust abloom while ghosts
of women once called "mother" do push
a wind a creak a falling leaf feathering
downward, candied sentiment traveling
forward

for hope for empty swing to fill to turn
the chronometer back to *12 noon, March 6, 1972

Let’s start with a reminder:
President Harding,
President Woodrow Wilson,
President McKinley,
President Calvin Coolidge
& President Harry S. Truman--
Harry giving them hell in my lifetime,
In my time—
An ever so proximate reminder--
These were all Presidents of the U.S. of A.
Also, KKK Members.
Warren G. Harding, for Christ’s sake,
Was actually sworn into the Ku Klux ****,
At a **** ceremony
Astonishingly conducted,
Inside the White House,
Presided over by Wizard Imperial of the Day,
The Honorable Colonel Simmons.
And I may as well throw in
Justice Hugo of the Supreme Court
Hugo Black in white robes,
While we’re on the subject of cultural memory,
To wit: the one Branch where Fairness
Is supposed to go with the territory.

You want to talk about race?
Hey, don’t get me started.

"Still water runs deep." - Yiddish Proverb*

To sail within a boat
never rocked or tucked within a sea.
Long grass kissing the bow.
Mosquito hum, siren stand-in.

Brother big, brother strong.
I, the groove of big brother's elbow.
Clothes on the line.
Canary yellow, A-line dress.
The spring girls swelling, rippling
from the bashful shore.

Big brother hold me over edge.
My arms, my oars.
Splashing pasture, blades receding.
Adults at birthday parties.

Brother big, brother mast.
Climb.
Not only sail, but zephyr, I.
Snake through Rusty Bike River,
the tributary.
Spill.
Into the wide, into the Harding Family Ocean.

Where dolls, hair frayed and faces smooshed,
lounge half-submerged and mostly forgotten.
Where sea dogs test chain, test spike.
Eye the confident chickens strolling dock.
And then Mother turns on porch lamp,
soft words, ebbing to lighthouse.

Brother big, big brother.
My arms, my arms.

i wrote this to tell you all the things you'll never get to know about me

you will never get to know what i taste like with all 90 days under my belt

you'll never get to know how i handle the anniversary of my mother's death
or what watching my father die does to me

you'll never get to see me bailing my little brother out of jail
or find out about how i don't smile the same way anymore after serving two years inside

you'll never see me on my wedding day
and you will never hear me tell you "i do" or that i love you

or hear me announce that my wife is pregnant
and you'll certainly never get to meet my baby girl and she'll have eyes just like her mama

you will never hear me come home from work when we're in our late thirties and i always have a good reason to bring flowers

you won't ever find out what my favorite song is when i'm mowing the lawn out back
and you won't be there when i decide to press charges on the man that hurt me


my point is
you're gone.
and honestly, you might not care. you might not ever even think of me again.
but you will never get to know me.
and for that i am thankful

Anger so deep
The journey so far
The pain so real
Pain so real that it makes time stands still
I am overwhelmed by my demons
I am forced to question the person am
I question why, just why I seemed to be far removed from this place
Dark cold and lonely pain is my new place.
By Oscar Harding

Man, don’t talk that ****--I ain’t but six-eleven, maybe,
But, pretend as he might, Reggie was seven-foot, legit,
And as bad a cat as ever took the court at Eastern High,
But bad off the court, too, took the neighborhood with him,
Wherever he went--man just couldn’t shake Mack Avenue,
And when the pros just decided
He wasn’t worth the trouble any more,
He had nowhere to go but back home, and nothin’ to work with
Save havin’ a big hand to pull a trigger with
(And that wasn’t getting him too far, like there wasn’t anyone
Who didn’t know who Reggie was),
And at some point you end up on the wrong end of the barrel,
Then nothin’ left to do
‘Cept try to wrestle what remained of the man
Into some huge-*** coffin
(Word was Mike Storen from the Pacers paid for it,
Even though Reggie had threatened to shoot his *** on live TV),
And word was when they got him to the graveyard
The coffin wouldn’t fit in the hole straight-in,
So they had to snap off a couple of the handles
And wedge him in all kitty-corner.
Man, I hope that story’s true,
Folks from the neighborhood used to say,
It wouldn’t be Reggie if he went straight.

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 14, 2015)

Memory distortions introduced by the loss of details in a recollection over time, often concurrent with sharpening or selective recollection of certain details that take on exaggerated significance in relation to the details or aspects of the experience lost through leveling. Both biases may be reinforced over time, and by repeated recollection or re-telling of a memory.

So I’m upset, you see, sitting in a canary yellow truck
back in Harding County 1976. The boys have gone off
in search of cows. I can’t leave because they’ve told me
the yellow truck is surrounded by rattlesnakes.  

So much as my toe won’t hit the prairie. And truly,
I can’t remember anything beyond the truck.
The land is flat for sure but I can’t see the windmill
or the water tank. The earth has all but lost its load of folks.

There’s only the yellow truck, the long clutch, and those *******,
the snakes. There’s only the manipulations of boys
gleefully trotting the plains with their chauvinisms.
The flat ocean of grass and my yellow pitching vessel.

So I take out imagination like a newfangled photo editor.
I want to exit the truck for a minute and put a cow
on the scene. But I worry about those snakes.
If I place a scrub bush here, the snakes might opt for some shade.

I bring the cow back but I want a happy cow,
not a suspicious cow or a jaded cow.
Luckily I find an article online that seems useful,
“16 Signs to Access Whether Your Cows are Happy.”

According to FarmersWeekly my cow’s happiness
involves muck sieving and rumen fill. It says nothing
about California which hitherto I’ve been told
makes cows happy. Strangely I’m feeling better.

Manaka-naka kong binisita ang 'yong munting tahanan
Siniyasat kung may bagong kagamitan o panauhing pinaunlakan
Sinuri ang katibaya't karupukan ng dating kagamitan
Repasuhin ang pundasyong itinukod ng nakaraan

At sa muli kong pagbisita sa 'yong tahanan
May bago akong nadatnan– nag-iba ang 'yong kinahihiligan
Hindi na aso kundi pusa ang paborito **** alagaan
Pati pintura ng 'yong munting tahana'y sya ring pinalitan
Ang dating itim ay tuluyang naging luntian
Maging ang pader nito'y simentado na't hindi kawayan
Pagbabago nga ba? o isinaayos lang?

T'wing bibisita ako sa 'yong tahanan
Dati-rati'y umaabot pa sa 'yong pintuan
Datapwat ngayo'y hanggang tarangkahan na lamang
Nananatiling nakamasid sa 'yong bakuran
Sa harding dati'y mirasol pa ang namumukadkad at hindi rosas
Sa bagong panauhing pinapasok sa pintuan
Pinaunlaka't nilaanan ng oras
Sa mga larawan niyang nakasabit sa dingding na dati'y mukha ko ang nilalaman
Nakatanaw;
Sa tahanang minsan ako'y nanahan
Sa tahanang tuluyan ko nang nilisan

-SLE

herman harding showed me his truck today
in the muggy high school parking lot
in the sweltering sun
that could easily set my still temperament ablaze.
"she calls it the **** wagon."
he told me.
"she calls mine the firestarter."
i told him; he gave me a look.
"surprised?" i asked.

"so what do you think?"

"it's a battered wife."

"what the hell does that mean?"

"all bruised and broken down,
probably only runs because
you give it gas."

"it's a hand-me-down, okay?
so am i giving you a ride home,
or what?"

i crawled in the **** wagon.
"i should be getting my license soon."

"that's nice."
herman seemed uneasy.

"yep, i'll be driving by next school year."

"that's nice."

the truck had green seats
and a yellow dashboard.
obviously replaced.

approaching the highway,
i opened the glove compartment-
insurance information.
"you're telling me you bought insurance
for this *******?"

"why should you care?"

"i'm just wondering,
seems like a waste of money."

almost home,
i flip down the sun visor-
down flutter a couple of pictures of her
that shouldn't have been taken.
i flip the sun visor back up,
take a look at the photos,
and deposit them in the glovebox.
"tell me, herman:
do you like getting hand-me-downs?"

"get out of the truck."

Presidents

Washington, Adams and Jefferson,
had *** with slaves just for fun.
Madison, Monroe and Adams,
I'm sure had secret madams.
Jackson, Van Buren and Harrison,
not sure how they ever won.
Tyler, Polk and Taylor,
before elected lived in a trailer.
Fillmore, Pierce and Buchanan,
should have been shot from a cannon.
Lincoln, Johnson and Grant,
each once had a cotton plant.
Hayes, Garfield and Arthur,
sinking fast with no life preserver.
Cleveland, Harrison and again Cleveland,
both of them killed at least one Indian.
McKinley, Roosevelt and Taft,
all too fat to float on a raft.
Wilson, Harding and Coolidge,
should have jumped from a bridge.
Hoover, Roosevelt and Truman,
wondering if they were even human.
Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson,
neither of them can still run.
Nixon, Ford and Carter,
not sure which one was smarter.
Reagan, Bush and Clinton,
shot, stupid and a Monica.
Bush and now Obama,
one was dumb,
and the other looks like a black llama.

The literal worst.

Some might say Nixon- the criminal in charge

Martin for the tear he let the native’s tread

Hoover for the shanty towns that rose

Fillmore who let the escaped and finally free be returned to captivity.

John Taylor the whig who wasn't a whig but manifested his Ideas in us going west.

Warren G Harding and the Affairs

James Buchanan who started the war.

But the worst were the ones who never got to be.
The literal worst because I got to see a world that will remain unknown to me.
And they are:
Jessie  
Charlene
Victoria and Shirley
Belva
Elaine
Carol ‘n Patsy and
Cynthia McKinney
And who can forget Joan Jett Blakk the black Drag Queen


Because Despite what the winners want you to think WE do not look like James Buchanan!

Warren Harding!

John Taylor and all the other men who have persisted to reign.

And still, we sit here and watch as all other make strides in the field we claim to have created.
Brazil
Germany
India
Israel
Iceland
Ireland
Liberia
Norway
Pakistan
The Philippines
Sri Lanka
South Korea
And the UK

I hope I live long enough to see America rise to the silent challenge of its peers.

To see a woman at the podium
To see a woman at the desk.

To see

The black woman
The trans woman
The bisexual woman
The old woman
The unmarried, unmothered woman
The minority woman
The asexual woman
The not so average American woman woman.
The bleeding woman.

and at the end of this session, i'm going to gorge on homemade banana cake, and a glass of milk; hmm, so that's that.

hannah hallysem, chloe vevrier, rosalia verne, dakota skye, nadine jansen, milena d., katrina jade, alison tyler, sasha foxxx, noelle easton, shay fox, kourtney kane, aletta ocean, lexi belle, aria giovanni, maritza mendez, silvia loret, laura lion, ashley graham, latex lucy, alexis texas,  dana dearmond, abella danger, karmen karma, jezebelle bond, keisha grey, karmen grey, jelena jensen, carmen croft, aneta buena, ines cudna, ewa sonnet, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, karolina pliskova, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, rooney mara, claire forlani, kelley scarlett, malina may, amirah adara, phoenix marie, foxy di., kenya lust, kiera winters, christy mack, paige delight, faith nelson, darya klishina, sand morris, alysha newman, silvia saint, adele stephens, deven davis, ewa wyrwal, tanya song, synn wagner, christina lucci, hunter leigh, lynda leigh, gemma atkinson, mulani rivera, sarah harding...
        
   all those "expectations" mingling with a *babuska...
gotta have a babuska after a list like that...
      looks nice, doesn't it?
         see how honest other people can become...
      that's as honest as you're going to get:
i'm hardly an out-of-the-closet gay / intellectual...
and this is hardly the most desireds genetical "encyclopedia"
worth reciting...
      but at least there's no closet,
and certainly no skeleton in it...
  to be honest, i'd love to see a compendium of
a woman's favourite *****,
   oh sure, i can switch off...
    i just start thinking about cow *******
and milk sacks; not that hard;
  ugh... furr... itchy... stroking a cow is like
scratching your skin after the barbers...
milking a cow: ah... another subject
of investigation...
                        why do men not bother being
breast-fed, to out-compete the babe?
seems a shame to leave a vacuum for
capitalism to not investigate, don't you think?

“Nightmares with my eyes open wide”
I am smiling.
Wish you could see me cry.
If only you could have seen that dead limp body in my arms!
If only your ears coul…d hear that cry.
My ears cry.
My eyes cry.
My heart cried.
My soul dying.
I killed purity.
I killed innocents.
Mummy loved me.
Daddy loved me.
And I was killed just the same!
Others could see what needed to be done.
No one wanted to ****! A dying soul!
A soul in pain.
A soul pleading with eyes that pierced to the bone.
I pretended to be blind as not to see, the pieces of what once was?
I pretended to be deaf as not wanting to here the cry’s of death!
No matter how I try.
No matter how hard I smile.
No matter how hard I laugh!
The sadness, the sadness.
Darkness still grows inside!

By Oscar Harding

There once was a
Grand Old Party
Formed against slavery
The Free Soil party

Defenders of the constitution
And the omnibus declaration
First to be President:
Abraham Lincoln

The 20s were the
Republican decade
Harding, Coolidge and Hoover
A decade sadly a century past

A temporal chasm loomed
Until conservative hero
Former democrat Reagan
Trickled up the elephant’s trunk

Take eye of Newt
And two from Bush
Alchemy trickery: viola kazam!
The great bamboozle began

It’s no longer conservatism
No longer less federalism
A horrible takeover
This GOP makeover

Fend for self
Wall off power
Distort report
All else enemy

Walk lock-step
Repeat refrain
Us not them
Say it again

My senator father
Is spinning in his grave
Fox in the henhouse
This Mitch debprave

“Family Drive”

you should of gone that way

Have you ever had one of those days

you won’t need a navigational system nor a GPS

just trust in your family , Family knows Best

No No Not that left

One wants you to go in one direction

and the other wants you to go in another.

Confused? You can get that way

No No Not that left

And now I gunna ignore them all

In fact, that is exactly what I had to do

No No Not that left

you should of gone that way

you won’t need a navigational system nor a GPS

just trust in your family , Family knows Best

By:Oscar Harding

Like dogs tucking into fish-flavored Alpo, we wash each other sans
costly, veterinary intervention, because it's so very simple: hoist the
mangy dog's tail to lance his ripening, pus-filled, scrotal-sac pimple

You were there

Around 2009,

I sat on our favorite tree branch with the summer rays beaming down on my arms. It was the perfect picture for the missing spot in your scrapbook.

You had hoisted me up there.

Around 2013,

I walked into your farmhouse at Christmas ready for a night of food, and presents. I ran to living room to check out the tree, before saying hi.

You didn't even get a hug.

Around 2002,

My mom screamed out, while breaking my dad’s hand. The doctor opened the door, and let you in first. Your eyes filled with tears.

You loved me from the start.

Around 2015,

The shouts echoed throughout room and in my head. I sat crying on the coach as her shadow loomed over me. It was supposed to be a nice vacation.

You stood up for me.

Around 2006,

I ran down the hill and about tripped over my feet. I was the first one there, you were far behind. I jumped on the swing. I loved to fly.

You pushed me.

Around 2019,

I hugged you with cautiousness. Your frail arms wrapping around my body. My eyes turned to your water cup on the table, it was only half way gone. The tears started down my cheek but I wiped them away quickly.

You didn’t deserve it.

Around 2029,

I looked in the mirror all dressed in white. My mascara ran a bit. It was almost time to change my life. Hopefully for the better. I searched the aisle and saw every face staring at me. I felt yours too.

You were there…
Somewhere.

Inspired by Deborah Harding, "How I Knew Harold."

The night is blank, like venison.
John Wesley Harding held my hand through the river.
The end is nigh.
Tomorrow things will be different, things will change.
I have so much passion, it's a curse.
I'm tired of tomorrows. I'm tired of being a fool.
I don't want to be a walking shadow.
I was born a walking shadow, so I was doomed from the start.

I find myself in love with everything and nothing but confusion  to show for it.
I see myself and I am a small patch of existence. I question myself.
Why do I care about something so insignificant?
Why do I love her and hate him. I once despised strong emotion, but now I've learned to be rude and decisive.
Now, for the sake of heart, I must forget what I've learned.

I was born yesterday, it's a fact.
Running down the mountain is the green of the Earth, the metaphor of life. Pouring out itself is the wind, singing softly an echo of eternity. Rising from the sky a great pillar, and a message therein embedded presupposed perpetual motion.

There is good, and there is evil. There is life and there is death. There is creation and there is destruction.
Destruction has so much power, for everything is in constant decay, and yet, creation wins. Though people die, life wins in the end. Sure, it's optimistic, but I don't care!

I see you now...

Hair over your beautiful face, and you tell me,
without saying a word... you tell me....

I wouldn't let you down like I put the window down, like I put your
mother down, or when I peeled your fish-net hose that wrap around
your creamy thighs that ruin our seedy *******/constructed lives
to make us want left states to turn right or men high up to fall down

Blades of grass
Slice like swords
Up the mountain towards
Divinity and
Portage Pass.

Ripples make
The water's mirror
Obscured but clearer
Is my mind at
Gold Cord Lake.

Sailing towards
The deepest blue
Where nature's hue
Harmonizes in
Kenai Fjords.

The mountains wield
Their crown with pride,
And skies abide
The reign of the
Harding Ice Field.

The sky is dark
But a giant looms
And light assumes
It's silhouette in
Denali Park.

As a disheveled Warren Harding once said:
“Because we’re insane!
There can’t be any other reason.”

Definitely to escape the cutthroat competition the contemporary circuit of born-for-the-role contenders creates on the court (or field, or stadium) –– ‘cause I can’t keep up

Definitely was seduced
By the ideas of hanging from cliffs with only tips
By the infinite approach, but ever distant mastery
By the hipster-esque go-with-the-flow-as-long-as-it’s-against-the-current lifestyle

Like a good song
The joy of the end
     is the memory of the journey
Every movement, every stressed cord
The notes together form something unique
       A landscape that only complete concentration can uncover
Also some of them are not as good
       Which gives you a standard for excellence

Or maybe the endorphin high just makes me think these things
Maybe it’s slowly driving me insane

A woman who chooses a lover who is of her father's generation has a father complex. A woman who chooses a lover who was born the same day as her has a fraternal-twin complex. And, of course, a woman who chooses a lover who looks like her garbage man has a  garbage man complex. I just got off work. I've been boiling potatoes & deep frying scrod all day. 3 men whistled at me. I can't wear an under-wire bra anymore. Oh, how it chafes!

heebie jeebies couple months before March 15th, 2020

More'n three hundred and sixty six days ago,
a pandemic did devastatingly blow
across the webbed wide world
dark shadows spelled glow
bull horror seeds of hell show
did terrify **** sapiens  
with unimaginable woe.

I revisited the following poem crafted last year
so little known about the when, why and where
concerning then Doomsday scenario unleashed
accept my humble apology if message unclear
giving reasonable rhyme details just threadbare

bard lacks scientific penchant I honestly swear
appalling attempt at writing trademark metered
poetic endeavor doth not lessen how ye revere
yours truly who would be amenable to answer
personal response, thus email me questionnaire.

Aye reckon eyes aforementioned microscopic organism
doth strain credulity threatening **** sapiens left agog
stupefied, whereby mortality of species existential crisis
pitted against unseen rapacious (non public) enemy glow

bull diabolic scourge plaguing world wide web humbling
**** sapiens arrogance, bombast, ecocentrism... fueling
outrageous mortal kombat concerning toilet tissue to stave
virulent pathogen wreak havoc across webbed wide world
immune systems entire bajillion complex edifices, (albeit -

biochemical, deoxyribonucleic, fantastical, helical, Judaic/
Christian, liturgical, neurophysiological, pathological, ollie
ollie oxen free radical, typical, virological, xylographical -
zoogeographical aerodynamical, critical, elliptical, genii
logical, ad nauseum) metaphorical house of straw knocked

(knick knack paddy whack...) upside the head obliterating
(one fell swoop) - fast as greased lightning defenceless ill
prepared immune systems rendering bipedal hominids law
n gevity (courtesy hiphop wordsmith Kanye West) basically
electric kool-aid acid test corroborating, galvanizing, plus

liberating riotous yawping, capitalistic, horrific, narcissistic...
aforementioned poetically licensed entitled germ cells, yours
truly suspects Mike rowed the boat ashore compromising rug
harding infecting taster's choice mortal human flesh, a fancy
feast inferred courtesy Sikh's six sense (mine), where spreads

trumpeting, kickstarting, and hooting virulent bugaboos flu -
went within ways and means of contaminating, infecting, and
orchestrating pandemic veritable microcosmic beastie boys foo
fighting (linkedin) twittering... figuratively and literally bring
***** simians to their knees (knobby in my case) maneuvering

offensive (salient parry and ******) undermining physical health
among village people (think - human league) field day nabbed
(dagnabit) vulnerability, susceptibility, and quintessentially awk
wiring advantageous edge, whereby wreaking havoc across avast
global swath temporarily forcing twenty first civilization braking

(fast) bringing living social muckraking and mudslinging species
(envision) bajillion people suddenly deprived of cherished helter
skelter hubbub devoid (car own nah fiat issued without warning)
mandating swarming multitudes against buzzfeeding capital one
good n plenti frenzied madcap lifestyles necessitating, quickening
uber vicissitudes (zero sum game) witnessed by level playing field.