beauty blues by baiting
breaths...tantruming,
posing the uprise
of perfectly fallen light.
sky's headshot, backdropping
backdrop of...
cherry blossoms crumbling
to perform the ceremonial
rights of birds breaking a
****** wing.

So, dope  young fellow
With your pretty boy swag.
With your SnapBack on.
Pants so **** low.
Every girl just waiting in line just to give you a blow.
You're royalty around here, but this is still high school.
Taking every girls cherries and jewels.
You think that you're raising the bar but I've seen this before:
Call it VCR.

And then there's me:
Who don't get no ladies.
Because I'm the type of person who actually treats females as actually human beings.
Not toys.
I'll put them before myself.
I care about their joy.
You know what's dead: chivalry.
And it can never be reborn.
Not like Call of Duty: zombies.
Boom, headshot.
But there's another ten coming your way.
Then it gets to the point when you're just blown away.
But I'll be your player 2.
Girl, I'd give up all my perks just for you.

So you guys out there with the pretty boy swag.
Who just zip it all up cuz they think they got  it in the bag.
I'm going to fight.
I'm going to step up for the voices not heard.
Cuz you've drowned them in depression, you've choke them with cruelty, and you've slapped them with sadness.
Unable to act.
Like a flightless bird.
I'll let them out of their cages so they can fly once again.
So you can't weight them down:
Call you Anchormen. Ooo, **** em'

So, pretty boy, nothing close to fantastic.
I just wanna say:
That I know  I'm swagtastic.
S- saving
W- women
A- against
G- guys
T- that
A- abuse
S- sensitive
T- tender
I- innocent
C- companions.

Shorten that: swag.
S- she
W- wants
A- a
G- gentlemen.

So now boy,
Lets just see which one of us got that "Pretty Boy Swag"

Motel moons, left of face
In room 12, a thing named Grace
She's missing ***** & he's missing eggs-
Band-Aids on the neck
Royal Hawaiian
Big Ad's A-Flyin' (Bye!)
Cowboys in black dusters
And aliens in track suits
Drinking coffee with the common man
Blue-hooded and faceless, walks by again
Third-reel-real headshot,
Kept as a souvenir by an FBI actor
A man can do a lot with his chin
Uncle Sam's tonic & gin
Not made to be an Earthling
Not fit to be an alien
Stars are flickering lights
On Big Empty nights
Three days in the desert
Minus pie sauce in the sky
What's in the blue suitcase?
Why the blue bowling shoes to get to that place?
"Just get on the bus, Gus...
... And get yourself free"
Blue-sky clouds on black
Whipped cream & jack
The United States of Aliens
And a Person in a circle

bought me a golden, a silver and a lead
told him I just need one to shoot me dead
smiling softly, "aim for your head.
first time's the charm" is what he said.

clock strikes twelve and bubbles burst
I squeeze the trigger in wanderlust.
the bullet, through my flesh, blood and bone runs
passing my pain to the loved ones.

Stumble on the ragged bones and fur of a deer above the spring,
choke on fear and grab your dog, drag him (and you) away.
Three years later, come upon the picked over corpse of a button buck in the upper field,
notice that there’s only half of it, back away and shudder.
Older now, pass half a dozen bloated carcasses along back country roads,
sigh, swerve to avoid the bloodstains on the pavement.
Meanwhile, your father’s got a doe in the bed of the truck strapped down still warm,
step back to keep the ****** snow off your boots, smile.
There is blood dripping from your nose and your brain feels like it’s rotting,
a blight of molding fur in a fallow field; picture fire, not bones.
Before, herds crept from the tree line at dusk while you sat around the flames,
grazing the lower field until they bolted at the howl of coyotes.
There is a bottle of pills and a carved antler whistle on your dresser;
one could save you, one might **** you. You know which is which.
Stagger through the woods with blurring eyes and a hanging head,
trip on a mouse-chewed antler and pick it up, smile, list right.
There is a white fawn standing plain in the bottom field that will disappear come winter.
Pull the arrows from your eyes; you can feel them, you know they’re there.
When the pain leaves you will run, fleet as deer, and outstrip the exhaustion that
howls at your heels. You will be alive again, and stop rotting.
Meanwhile, try not to trip on your bones, body trying to drop as though from a headshot.
Don’t lie down yet- the blood will scrub clean eventually.

Septuagint prince scribing on scrivello detail
Emerges from the frogmarch grave of revenants sheepish about ghoulish masquerade
The tribes whittle puckered shibboleths and charismatic vengeance evades
The henpeck of roosters harmonizing sand into grassy knolls of carapace cathedral light
Walks beyond the whimsical despair the conniving conservatories of manufactured fright
Spurned by smokestack confusion above a plastered reconnaissance of abundant life flocking between small awakenings curtailed by fulgurant swelters of blistering white
The spectral dance assumes primordial shades to dampen the windowed elegance of betrayal complicit in the haze
Mojo’s rise and fall with moonshot decades flashing intimacy lived twice barking like a squelched gyrovague relishing the kantikoys of burlesque night
And yet among the bemused stars unbuttoned by the prolixity of the Russia ruse the smear indelible flaunts with decadence in the pleonasm of sluggish articles of flight
How long must the messianic age shelter the nebbich halls of crambazzled piety in science to an upbringing of oligochrome
How many dastardly wernaggles of the rusticated elitism flomp with desultory banquets reminiscent of boiling Rome
Incinerated in an ageless day revived only after a historic lapse of barbarity in the ferule exacted such immeasurable despair
That the prejudice of pride is forever shelved as redundant because the filigrees of geometry only permit curvature in flatness
Convex movements captured in still-framed pillories refract nothing but Blazing Saddles of a caricature full-bloom sun
Yet we marvel at storybook ghosts and the isangelous carapace of marauding instincts forever brave and encaged
Erratic by delivery but sciamachy knows no identifiable age
Scrawny fossarians dig entrenched charnels voraginous with skeletons of brackish regelation enthused by immemorial decay
Must we abridge a hearty ocean in a month’s sublime regaled design of trespasses of unsung heyday spaying its weakest defrocked knight
Armed to the Teeth we seek the terminus of apocalyptic capsules destined for gluttons braving annihilation in the vacuum of orbital planes plain only to the ken of the keenest sight
No we make no petitions in prayer for this Soft Parade of vigor verging on flair
We ransack littoral virtues in nexility bronzed with Stayin’ Alive shoes in remission of staircase blight
Beamish in beatitudes of milquetoast pregnancies of salted Matzah brimming in the yeasts of cesspool emergent from scarecrow metaphors flagrant hauteur gliding on air
Witness the spearhead of revolution in the metagnomy of oracular aubades to future brimstone caverns
Lurking like counterstrokes in revision blackguarded by the feisty prowl of outpaced labtebricole whipsaws of timber readied into foisted brown-brick comestion of elegant emerald errors
Dancing with galactic improvidence concealed by the rigor of lurched liars enthroned with prerogatives of stain-glass adumbration
We parcel up parsecs because clairvoyance among titans is a swank in need of 20/08 visions spectral in the clouds of all prominent registries of memory
Lost to faint delicacies of swift serpents outlasting gnats in the tabernacles of ribald ecbolic promontories on the verge of futile tomorrow pastimes spinsters flummox with slimmerback rigmarole flanged by whinks and escorted by the maskirovka of positive bears in absolute value alone
Yet Enola Gay found its destruction profitable to hominist lore enough to attenuate its evaporation of suffrage in the glint of pervasive remedies to stranded gore
Embanked on the sidelines of conquistador flaunts that a Titanic missive of classy regard found the damsel at the steerage slipping on zalkengur irony the anticlimax of lore
Traipsing fellowship of many a ring is a phony artifice for an ostentation that bellows so loudly when isolated perjury must not whimper but sing
The loudest plaudits afforded to a parallax incumbent white horse in the shadow of Dark Horse occultism a barbed flying wing of the West becoming the king of behest
Scurrilous are many jeers because their similes are baseline just as much as the storged conglomerate behind ensnared rapture looming with less ecstasy and blunt fear remains the kilmarge of simple foresight wrinkled behind the sum of many tears
We await our Creator’s Throne insuperable even with the blandishment of piecemeal craters that are superlative bolides of the weirdest attenuated into the spectrum of eldritch weird
Yet the riches of hobohemia found in “invisible lockets” worn by the travesty of jerseys measuring up to Roadhouse beer
The cartels of citadel cascades built on mountebank fortunes reaped from venal psephology collectively embody the unconscious gamut of javelin cloaks of sardonic sneer
Threnodies written long ago in the Hidden Tracks of sophistry welcome the intermissions of antiquity abridging the donnybrooks of charlatans bossed around by facetious gibes of manicured belletrist humid enough that evaporation itself of rarefied tabacosis has few if any peers
Yet the peerless sketch thrombosis in the oxygeusia of deceptive schadenfreude only to topple jengadangles that glabrous gravity muscles to barely if it all steer
In a vacant reality eager for surrealist bounty the sidereal question of moribund placards supplanted by vibrant living semaphores fixates upon figments of acatalepsy rather than ruddy enumerations of partition despite beloved chalky rudiments filibustering with courtesy rather than jeer
Amicable are ravenous betrayals for chieftains cloffined by warm sapwood integral to equated tantamount mountains festooning firmaments in quaffed delights rigid and keen
The most welcomed blasphemy fragrant with jejune originality celluloid enamors splenetic with sprees of perishable profanity lurking ever more obscene
Regaled in the modest jostle is the forsifamiliation of heterodyne dins of honest applause from the blackguarded periphery among which there are no visible beacons no visible stars
Scarred by diacope enumerated in prescient revelry the trollops of tune and attunement magnetize a riveting weld of seamless geometry that is permeable to ineffable lychgates both porous with prowess and ajar against a golfer’s remediable par
Wizened ghosts flirt with tucked bushes in the forlorn deserts jolted by oasis and flagrant with confection torn asunder by wide-eyed gallantry skipping stones on ataraxia from a distraught afar
That lake of goldmines is scattershot with limey limelight squandered on profligate wrikponds of propinquity but not prolixity in scores and bounties of exoticism in glaikery’s fugitive charm
In proximity there is usucaption but the usufruct of sustainable obelisks to liberty must have the forbearance to bear many witnessed eyes to the Right to Bear Arms
Skirmishes of benighted fracking obsolescence ragged with vitriol and poison-ivy nostalgia flaunt the bromides of algedonic flash over consequences that many disregard
Spiraling with vertiginous pain the scowl of obligation is both seamstress of emblazoned effronteries and the proper reflection of seasoned but not seasonable garb
This barbed quandary riddled with rapacious tendency mixed with myopic bonhomie devours a rickety cacophony of diminutive scopes of ******’s glare to prove each atomic indivisible atrocity a carbonated fulmination heavily barbed
This is all why the killjoys monopolize their gangster vices behind tinted windows and chockablock morality are uxorious bridewells for the bridgewater of garbology sketched by vanity in the outrecuidance of gallionic chasms of an absolute value of firebrand regard
No difference does it make if the recoil is whimpered by hordes of sheep in pretenses of authenticity or whether decapitated delopes emerge from visagist dacoitage snuffed like flavors orbiting self-injury by clockwork towers apace to outlast tertiary bribes for secondary bards
The atocia of freckles in recognition of frail pinnacles summited by daily alpine dilettantist dualisms of polarity are a gullywasher to cleanse and launder indelible regrets carved by aboriginal pottery to memorialize primordial penury
As the slick oleaginous tilts of wicked smart Northeasters swarm the hindsight of Southern Weather afflicted by tempests beleaguered first on recapitulations of Calvary and then deposited evidence upon bourgeoisie
Fumes of the modest flambeaus torching sunken apostasies of hungry spasms of the wind meeting the brusque celerity of the ribald waves rarely etch sublime hint in etch-a-sketch lapses of untimely mobility
Instead that perspicacity of conservatory silence bludgeons Lisbon in the fright before the fall of so many a Phoenix in a foreign land can bear the assaults of the heaved seas
Lambent upon a craggy regularity extinguished by sentinels of the tattered womb for a grimace of prestige by primipara seduction we find no justice of known and knowable terminal disease
Figurative in spoken wisps that predate evaporated concepts of precipitous time the triumph of exalted adoration belongs to hubris but vacant of the prideful decline of crime
To each outspoken verve witnessed on sublunary turf the absolution is nearer to fertility than the craggy soil is to dirt as blemished prowess is a furlough to the sensitive pink tucked manifold beneath each authentic skirt
Liberated by ophelimity but flexed by vicarious pomp in serenade only of hauteur for the hottest we slice and dice a cavern of temptations regardless of enumerated patterns of clearly lopsided dice
We think we live and die but You Only Live Twice in ******* to the oriental bolides of meteoric meteorology preeminent in governing plantations of rice
In jubilant proclamation, I graft from venereal skin a renewed girth of purpose that all enchanted fantasia is a birthright of pleasure more than a vapid drawl of purpose
Glitter bores the scintillation of a denuded naked glory of gore because intimacy is antecedent and consequent to immovable revolutionary procreation of service
To conclude this homily the apothecary in persiflage renounces the role of kilns in both poverty and pottery because his shaken dreams are yelps of a disgusted ornery camaraderie
Listless by oracular dreams of titanic parvenus immune to the sway of tentative croons of Suburban Muse because the grisly subversion of vetust honor that honors not verdict but version of ghastly spools of flimsy epitaphs and not the paragon surgeon is the downfall of a diatribe of petty men
Littering their taradiddles on owleries in overclocked jaundice drowning for purpose among hatcheries of the privvy roosters that own the consequence of audacious pens
Dodgy in interrogation, flummoxed with deracination, isolated by time for time’s recapitulation of surrender in katzenjammer vibes it is time for gossamer servant surfers to borrow nine and hang ten
But the noose of the wednongue nun specializes in puritanical Model Ts for DeLoreans trendsetting years ago because listless lethargy benights the glory that cineastes already won
Teeming on the brink of tomorrow is the progeny of hopeless yesteryear engraved on the iconoclasm of the weak after the next debacle because the Earth after Christ has already borne a Ton
Liturgies revised to reflect corsair trigonometry aimed forever at zephyrs of plight bathe in July 3rd infamy doctored by Generators and Generations before and beyond Walter White menacing the saber with imperious might
Flowered in the nuisance of death is the womb of the arena participant to infinite relapses of contention gladiatorial only when the shunamitism of shanachies sheds serpentine grit for the blench of ligonies of redoubled sight
Towering from the knave inferno of a tramontane elusive cordial imitation of captive citizens of attentive sites the illusion is the vanguard of centuries guarded gingerly by Canada Dry sprites
Rollicking in vehement magpiety attuned to machismo if marginally the sultry philander of naked ruse medicates the charmed Apache Indian on his brief encounters with limousine cruise
Stark in sunken destination glimpsing coal-fire recursive ironies the cloned subversion is a golden calf so effete because it never moos about instinctual muse relegated by twin terrors riddled with sparkplug truce
Limited by scopes enlarged by scales mired in funereal pyres to rigmarole sensationalism worthy of nativist coercion and pivoted lyres the riddle of terminus remains an acquiescent scoff, cough and quaff that never expires
It reaches planetary dread of vast distances regaled against gambits of the spread so the richest sourdough appeases the riper vipers of the nested bed
Recalcitrant with frugal uxorious creed the leader of esquivalience is the headless horseman of innumerable tractions but no mouth to feed
He digests the gallop of the gallant interregnum specious in caitiff ploys and the recessive allele of commiserations against the piety of apolaustic joy because rambunctious speed always attracts a resignation professed from the tailspin of a crass voyage of ludic greed
Tricksters boast of passionate lubrications of finessed bread recocted from useless toasts glowering with insipid pallor as heat and humidity reckon billows of hype congregated more in cisterns of apostasy for remark than a marksman headshot of a Head Hunter wed tightly to a pregnable visions of proactive Ghost
Recidivism and time have a vendetta against verdant drolleries coated by waxen plenilune accordions rampant with polyacoustic rhymes
The tridents of mercurial weather bent on the ineffable vacillations of whether are the brazen opponent of Sterling fatherhood of life’s only father the clockwork animation of a living patronage of eternal existence cobbled from immutable time
To the glory of the Father the sun shades its whimpers and the moon alights as the frontispiece of nocturnal revisions to the New York Times but the hues of rocketed ingenuity coax the ingratiated few to the laureates of genius reckoned with both designation and superlative artifacts of pristine design
Haunted by Green-Light Politics for Greener-Eyed Ladies masquerading in star-crossed tomes of existential dread of lollygagged playful mischief tucked in the coach as he leads his team with sophrosyne feel-good invictive treacle we witness the fumiducts of fortune blitzing Hail Mary contrition with earnest specialty in defense of offensive precision
Games won by the squirrel are outnumbered by the stars in the heavens flagrantly devoid of specialized electricity enough to encapsulate the ommateum of collectivized insights found only in the most evolved sequence of cell division
Incarcerated by the scrappy schlep of bad beats and bronzed chariots roiled by the momentum of angular spears we seek oracular transcendence that cements decades into the span of days that portend the deliverance of future years from past and present fears
Presiding as proctor in the redacted exoneration of crash-course pilots glowering with the effluvium of recensed perdition the heyday of one becomes the mayday of anarchy tested only by the alacrity of the summation of its beloved yet maligned cheers
Against a prosperity hard-won by earnest husbandry commandeered by gammerstang notoriety spawning the recrimination of star power into centupled peers negligent of zero-sum opinionation wagered by Country Club fraternities embedded in the taxonomy of wilted hackumber for hegiras minimized by outcry but cemented by Dear Johns’ twinged with sultry pleonexia in taxed tears
So with the whipsaw of the individual between the collective funnel and the idiosyncratic insubordination that amplifies outcry galvanized throes of insemination built on cross-pollination is melliferous to a pretense of alchemy outstretched to sidereal wonder
Hardest to guess is intimacy clothed in Platonic virtues crumbling because puritanical pilgrimage is appraised as a joyous thunder for a abnegation from all potential blunders
To wager such a life is a depredation of the abundance that John breathes as a ceremonial birthright cast aside by latent regrets stampeding the realm of nosocomial reflections of the pallor of a lurid squander
So we are left to bemuse the decrepit bodewash of realism taken to such a virulent extreme it leaves few artifacts of nostalgia to croon about and ponder and fewer abstractions to yield to manicures of elegant troponder
Diminutive sinews in the intertesselations of heft profess a fidelity of notoriety carving life before and after death
Unsung by the beadledom of the usucaption of exotic tailored musician brutes upon my landlocked assault of chryselephantine usufruct I lampoon nescience as it lurks in murky graveyards of anoegenetic zombies covered in thick pigments of piggish soot
Yet this fuliginous bronteum of warped clarity transfixed by the ulterior wednongues of atrocious spans of provenance jilting providence makes betting interests of rivalry outcomes harder to win earnest roots
The trees of the gamboled skittish resignation of checkered blinks obscuring the curtailed discernment of bedizened slogans of future campaigns yet distasteful in ornery churning the bootstrapped tie their tethered laces to their acquired boots
Barnstorming through afflicted spandrels of abeyance shepherded by notions of public dereliction by imperium of centrobaric centripetal philters of concubine rhymes I surge beneath cordial flonky redhibition because of redshorts in estimable traction cemented by supernal design
Weak in luster my potent pollination for synergistic aplomb evades the fringe of corrugated affections mounted upon quixotic escapades of jockeyed statistics flourishing by reticence rather than frazzling the prolix emulation filibustering the mundane ignorance but garnering the harvest of the plevisable sequence from prime to prime indivisible by liberty alone or complicit with cadence sublime
Finishing the sermons of modern apostasy to a gallant cause my laments outnumber the muzzles belonging to the quorum of begrudged applause in the rawest spectacle of unheralded genius clawing insistently at the heart of electric gravity
The nuances of plausible nuisance bicker in emerald harlots of the tantamount nature of derelict frikmag to calculated prosodemic solidarity around insanity because the vein of the golden ore should see ivoride as nullification and inanity
We all stoop on counterfeit stencils of pretense hearkening a clairvoyant sun to droop for closer inspection but detective remonstrance is outmoded by dreary witless defections
Thus the drawl scrawled by the genius flonky in gadzookerie but gilded in rhapsodies of ineffable cadence fighting orthodoxy to a relegated draw sketches the outline of the special talents of lying claws
Because stipulated in the vast oversight that predicates reprisals of retches glazing in obtuse effronteries with eccedentesiast odontoloxia we witness the corrosion of race and gender into pontificating audits of nomadic treason in a fortress militarized by niche applause
Trickling from repcrevel faucets implicit degradation is a casual casualty of an abbreviated motive gestured in ponderous stupidity to distract abiding legislation into the giggled gaggle of tinsellated glitter
Fatuous by vacuums of gaudy prizes worthy only of token motions rather than locomotive strains of virulent and compassionate respect lapsed on vigors of vehement regret is a sing-song ridicule of a still-framed pillory erected as the obstacle that gouges the riddles of impediment and deprives the luxury of preferential emolument siphoned off to lurid jeers of mockery propaganda sizzling in the cauldrons of tilted marginalization
So we witness the faded declension of the hubris of fair-weather camaraderie as a flux dispersal of invidious buoyant bloviated streaks of temporal grit into inverted revelry never shared by the proper ubiquity of streams of personal recompense for plodding fragments of invasion
If I veer away from bickering cackles of denounced preeminence swiveled to face the shadows upon the great cavern of insuperable bounds of fickle human ignorance I deplore the vaunted toadies that shrink my shadow and diminish my viable conceptual and vibrant footprints
Few extinct creatures know the annihilation of petty fame quaffed on Whiskey Bars I never met because the insipid banal pleonasms of restructured irony grimace at my complexion as the scent of the game alerts the foibles of a champion begotten once before as a shark-tank prince
Livid is my grief in the aborning moral quandary of sunken priority overlapping with piebald skeumorphs of retches of blinkered allegiance faltering prior to the primary day of my true awakening because the completion of nesiote subterfuge  rusts on creaky hinges of noncommittal regressions of pointed but pointless deluge
I spar with the augury of irrelevance with a five-pointed star bequeathing rigid but plentiful provision to assist with more than a petty dime of tithe to a 20/20 flash of perfect prescience and hallowed vision
The eve of all destruction is the lollygag of subordinate squawks redacting convenient priorities on the slowpoke walks through teenage immaturity found in the infamous “talk” that the world is governed by evasion in supremacy rather than by the bywords of the perennial stocks in sublime stalks
This nation perishes with my visionary clarity because the bifocal constraints of delimited defenestration remands my custody beneath ****** upheaval documented by useless historians of deliberation in gaffe and ammunition for agitprop flickering away the aubades of praise for the stilted pretense of sclerotic values inflexible to authorship thus scuttled by crowdsourced dictatorship
How sad a spate that the welters of sciamachy hide behind the glaring shadow of immeasurable genius for an unwarranted earwig to steal the echoes of my thunder and poison the servitude of the minions to companionship to highlight aggrieved infamy over walloping feats of refrain found in an isolated rather than protracted celebrity
The guilt of the reproachable beams through the frikmag of tyrannical bouts of circular wernaggle as I carve spherical reckoning that outstretches in all viable directions so that “The Mailman” and the Male Man both succeed in historic insurrection
Flashy benumbed brutish ferules of ferocious dainty dances with an arbitrary cage highlighted among a voiceless heyday for an auditorium which perceives insanity more dangerous than inanity is a profane stipulation by wrinkled mediagenic hubris which scours planetary limitations for excuse to recourse and recourse to excuse
We find marvels in subtlety finicky on the apothegms of heterochrony divergent even further from syndication as the regimented nuances of abuse become plucky daredevils that cozen robust vital sapwood from anglers seizing by seizure the roundabout logic of the innumerable minority characterized forever obtuse
I writhe in delicate contortions of flexed directional bypass surmounting orthodromic velocities capering with the anenometers that spar against spangled enthusiasm only to become an anointed slave of the flagging moral resolve fulminating a huffed crusade with silentiums of false asylum for true achievement brusque against any resourceful tempest scurrying the hidebound illusion of pandemonium for scrappy shenanigans of vergers and emptied pews griping with the dearth of the day-to-day despite the known tomorrow
We cannot affix primary focus upon constellated wasms of puckered abstention borrowed from a maskirovka of secret hedonism wed to many vices among wives but deprived of sacrosanct remuneration for abiding expenses yet an atoll upon a continent decisive in its aborning revolution
Ribald wiseacres of a jovial dismay flanged on rectiserial exaggerations of sebastomania is a stranded frigate of a fugitive escapism wandering with nomadic insistence against cosseted blackguard of assertion without plenipotentiary verdicts against the suborned crater of overstated flimsy truculence in sardonic dissolution
In trespass of a reservation of recoiled tender of tutelage proctoring unseemly haggardly refuse to creak into noisome and noisy cacophony armed by centurions of merciless scorn that lackadaisical winter belies the meteoric riches of autumn mainour fungible with the retches of remorseful decay dangling retreat above entreaty for exasperated wednongues lacking curiosity or the backbite of counterfeit engastrimyths seeding an unknowing complicity to fallacy forked over by chiefs and chefs to an amounted dubiety reserves the armaments of glib sedition for inopportune blacklists by a whitewashed Listerine amenable to launder travestime into oversight rather than belabor banal graft upon the agelasts of a toilsome operose labor to trivialize Herculean monuments to creativity as backwater residence of restive plucky percurrent revivals of infamy as a primary thorn rather than a secondary abreaction
Sentinels swift to the expedited squalor intrepid in sclerotic simpers of renowned defalcation bludgeoned by the tridents of harmonized trauma healing the brayed complaint while regaining the quixotic statute of plevisable mobility belongs to the froward counterpunch to the flippant underminnow of savagery yet among noble personage a blip on furloughs rather than a singed diacope perishing in Wasting Light for denuded darkness to supplant the vacated stage of ironic upbringing bartered from a treasury of obsolete wasms of trivial shadows in the amounted lineage of time.
Elected by the purblind fudged cadge of intransigent solidarity behind unhinged proclamations of lewd lunacy the reset of wibble-wabble and conflagrations of trenchant visibility will cloud the cloudiest tempest with hurricane-force devastation by the healing stripes of the piebald idiosyncrasy of gerrymandered defamation failing where insular regeneration outlasts hamartia and blinkered foibles of girouettism to pillory the excess but not transmogrify the whittled progress of seminal generativity unbounded by harped lyres of discord for secret concords of select femicide
With outstretched hands I point to the tapestry of the Heavens as eternal folksy witness that to endear the temperance of time bullishly roaring on the laureates of prolific servitude to the malleable substance of capered argument the enigmatic punctuation outweighs the baragnosis of miscreant opportune glares at personal prospect for aggrieved sockdolagers of redstrall over the filigrees of innate geometry to cackle above the shouted gnash and the dissoluble squirms of blackened cremation of living memories into insipid fracking of sapwood caitiffs flowing on the motion of discredit rather than honor in valuable endeavor for future genuflection
Totems value me as much as they stalk grazed hinderbaggle of cosmetic devolution of ragged popcorn theatrics in the desuetude of normative ethics beneath the carcass of rotten dastardly cowardice brandishing an ulterior discretion beneath the level of the lowest stoop of any breed founded on loyalty verging into flagrant snipers of integrity for the integral unshakable paragon of broad illumination the guidepost for many spectral truths overshadowed by one miserly fool flummoxing with albatross without the overhang  of pluvious integrity shepherding his hauteur in zig-zagged wallops rather than buoyant serenades
Thus entrenched in juicy poignant barricades against virulent spawn of the katzenjammers of squawking femicide I spout the blossom, bequeath the gift, renounce the delusion and form a formidable bastion against depredated valleys blemished from sight by intolerable patches of darkened verdure hiding from commonwealth perception the pearl of ecumenical salvation swimming in the naked tongues of honest profession dancing with conventional demarcated demerits of Rimbaud ramshackle deracination as a humdrum belittled squander of a prop of craven filibuster rather than beavers outsmarting the delignated destruction of habitat because of outright distaste for plucky individuation above the squalor of relativism in minor octaves of gnashed betrayal rigged by hamsters rather than owned by the men trigger-happy with rat race motivation only to the servitude of degrees rather than plausible recovery embedded into the fabric of fickle society
Hidebound tomes fishing for destruction but grappling with the enormity of the plagued pitfall of ceramic skirmish with brittle conscience emerge with epincion rather than sulk in brooded hyperbole of convenient drapes of flocks postulating irrelevance clearly in the light of the truest day frolicking with gigantic swaddles of curated support etching masterpieces of traipse into the frescades of future calenture beyond the petty misestimation of hemitery politics
Thus the weapon serves two masters of row rather than regatta and the besieged rankles the testy predicament to a teased poetry riveted by years of rhapsody rather than moments of tomfoolery emergent victorious rather than dilapidated by what-could-have-been chary brinkmanship on the precipice of modern sacrilege
To instruct the herds of men to hoard and the wisdom of the wise to circulate that apothegm of reclamation owns superlative traction fundamental to whimsical festivity even forsaken on a churlish masquerade outmantled by frenetic activity famigerated by the true Richter Scale of public fanfaronade because justice is truth and only in germane truth beyond germ scares will decrepit scarecrows demolish their Fear Factor even when the gullible squirm for nexility on bounded continents rather than novantique frontiers
Conscription demarches for assembly beyond relegation and celebrity above frays of discordant rumination feasting advenient rather than cherishing internal and integral the virtuoso wrabble of residue generations churning wheels of acceleration rather than quibbling extinguished vitality as principal complaint exercised in negligent abodes of facetious barnacles to outlandish freckles in the majestic pulchritude of a Titanic salvation beyond and considering the curglaff of sunken resources pitted to my registry by slot-machine audiences incognizant of brittle whittled henpecks of adoring truth and perdurable verve
We sink and die by destructive tongues but abide and live by righteous exemplary prowess capable of scraping the towering canvass of the firmament and the retches of the deepest sea inhabited by any curiosity worthy of emolument
So in token liturgy I decry sidelong cursory squandered affronts that drive the Jehus madcap with fractious celerities of formal destitution rampant on flonky menace rather than modern hypertrophy
In The End, we see triumph in every nuance and bristling concord with every perspiration of ennobled effort truckling into serrated selachostomous and fractious bromides of wrecking-ball fashionistas fumigating cultural pederasty with subtle bailiwick but ragged travesties of taxidermy celluloid
Marvel in-between the serenade and grandstand and cull the turnverein of triumph from banished evasive rundles of the outlasted calculus to neuter the estranged and to estrange the atocia of vibrant surreal vibes no stranger to an alien hand in a desolate world.

dancing hazily as he smokes
lazily, blue-lipped Turkish square;
cherry brighter than his love.
fiendishly palming in the dark;
superstition rules his life like
his favorite little white *** lush.
summer died like his bride in
November; consummation in progress.
angel sent by sunbeams and sugar cane;
siren sent silently from some Caribbean island
beckoning him from across the realm.
headshot, sawed-off, ethereal glow.
vows breathed fearfully as fists rained down.
her name's on the tip of his tongue,
but he's so far gone now his memory's grown
fuzzy, though surely he's not forgotten.
how could he forget his one true love?
the one he risked it all for, fought God for;
his most prized possession, his pin-up
queen found in pieces on the streets
of Paradise Valley just past Wyoming,
glittering just outside the *******.
rhinestones like diamonds decorated her flesh,
black eyes from a man who came and left,
tiger stripe bruises from the ones who
could never love her the way he could.
had he dreamt her? or was she real?
were her tears or her blood real?
****** had bonded their souls and as if
by the grace of God her spirit haunted him
spitefully; her apparition found him frightened
in his hide out in the desert and he knew
he had to settle the score, so he headed east
back to the scene of the crime, back to
the city it all began and he begged her
to let his soul rest as he had not let hers.
his girl, his princesa, his Bonnie, his jewel,
the one he had so shamelessly and brutally
left for dead on the side of the road in fresh snow,
laughed viciously at his fearful pleas and
reminded him of all the life she had missed,
all the innocence lost on a drunken whim
because he had no control over the demon
that made itself a bed in his heart or
the weakness he felt when he saw how broke
her heart was over a man who was anyone
but him; and in an instant he had known what to do,
promising her the world as he destroyed
what good she possessed until she was nothing
more than a cold body in the passenger's seat
of his slate grey beater. he knew he would
never be free from visions of her smiling and
singing 'i love you's as he took her life until he
took his. if there really is a God out there,
he's a cruel master, but so too is a lover who
goes rogue when his love's gone up in flames.

Part I: Introduction

My sweet Knight, my dearest Ant,
This introduction is more of a self-induced and frustrated rant.

Your patience and love is much appreciated,
I know that you have been waiting for this for a while now, so you must be elated.

Please forgive me for taking so long,
I wrote this in sections so you can understand my heart and where in it, you belong.

It is more of a letter than a poem, but I still wanted to rhyme,
Sorry for my continuous and endless rambling, and for wasting time.

Please excuse my disorganized thinking,
I will admit that some parts were written while I was drinking.

I hope that you enjoy it, despite this unsatisfactory effort to help you see,
The ways that I adore you and how special you are to me.

Part II: Fine Arts

I promised to write a poem, a special one just for you,
Writer's block hindered me, so I turned to art hoping it‘d grant me a different point of view.

I find the best ways that I express myself is through music, writing, and fine arts,
But all I could do was write your name in calligraphy, followed by endless red hearts.

Colourful paints on a eggshell white canvas could never capture your essence,
Your soul shines brighter than the pigments that could never glow with such iridescence.

I could not paint my adoration, so I picked up my pencil and held it tight,
And sketched until the side of my hand and wrist were completely covered in graphite.

I felt defeated in expressing myself through art because I could not get it right,
But if I am being honest, the most difficult thing to endure is having to say goodnight.

I will to show you the art I have created with you as my inspiration,
But for now I will move on to music, so make sure you tune to next station.

Part III: Music

I cherish music that resonates and reverberates in both our soul and our being,
Through auditory stimulus, it expresses such beautiful and affectionate feeling.

Feelings that are hard to put into words, or painted, or drawn,
But three minutes of a dedicated love song ends in a silence that seems to drag on.

If I were to compose my own, I would play in on my own delicate heart strings,
So you could clearly hear the way my heart flutters for you, and soars with its own wings.

I would sing lyrics that were as fluid as the strum of a guitar,
I would gladly endure the pangs that stung from plucking of various notes until it left a scar.

I trust that you would tend to my wounds and listen intently to my song,
I would compose it into a lullaby to help you rest all night long.

I would gladly jam to classic rock with you all day,
And dance for you as you watch my body move in a gentle sway.

Take my hand and let us dance together,
We can do it outside as we feel our worries dissipate despite the rain and cold weather.

Our warmed blood and rhythmic movement will help keep us warm,
Along with our own bodies that merge when we hold each other and we unify to one form.

I am overwhelmed with happiness at this sweet thought,
And if anyone interferes, the space between their eyebrows will be my next headshot.

Speaking of murdering to satiate my lust for death and blood,
I will move to the next section, when their bodies hit the ground with an echoing thud.

Part IV: ******

I reject slumber to hear your animal noises and witty puns,
I find comfort in our oddities, and if anyone tries to belittle you for it, I will ready my guns.

My axe and shield are ready and hang down each side,
My claws sharpened to easily slice through ill intentions and obnoxious pride.

Your shhhh’s and Daddy voice help keep me sane,
When I have a fury inside of me that craves slamming my shield into their brain.

You love that I am nurturing and kind-hearted,
But it is difficult even for you to headpat me to calmness once I get started.

If anyone were to pain or upset you,
I would rip their jugulars from their throat with my teeth and feed it to animals at the Bronx Zoo.

Speaking of animals, I know that I am your special Amazonian Witty Kitty,
I know that you find it cute when I am stubborn, and think I am so pretty.

I am an Awko Taco, but only you know this,
I trust you enough to be vulnerable and be myself freely without judgement, and that is pure bliss.

I cannot completely protect you from one’s cruel intentions once it is embedded in their mind,
But if I am there next to you, you will hear the bow creak in preparation as I wind.

No one will get away with hurting you, especially not while I am there,
But I will wait for your nod of approval before letting my arrow slice through their scalp and hair.

Part V: Patient Wolf

I hope that I have not discouraged you by making you wait so long,
To finish this inadequate poem that does not depict my love properly, it felt so wrong.

I have been wanting to scrap it completely for a few days,
Crumple the paper and watch it disappear under my lighter as it is set ablaze.

But I wanted to keep going and trying no matter what,
I know that you'd find it cute regardless, just like my Nu's and my ****.

It is specially made just for you, a soul so beautiful it shines so bright,
Even though I know that you are a Colossus-stealing, resource-hogging, filthy American Knight.

Part VI: Ecstatic Joy

I know that when I see you in less than two weeks,
I will smile from ear-to-ear until it hurts and pains my cheeks.

The days seem to grow longer and longer the closer that we get,
And when I try to sleep, I panic and think of stuff that I do not want to forget.

These thoughts have been resulting in many restless nights,
But at least I get to watch the Sun’s show of beautiful, celestial lights.

Colours like crisp golds and splendid apricots spread over the sky,
Rays sneaking past poorly placed and out-of-reach canvases on a ledge that is too high.

I cannot wait to be by your side,
We will both turn into blushing tomatoes with smiles so wide.

I cannot wait to be woken by songs of mornings and individual rays of Sun,
Beaming through the curtains of your window, one by one.

I cannot wait for the late nights and hushed talks,
The moon hanging over our heads as we lay around in PJs and fuzzy socks.

I cannot wait for the events that we have planned;
Yanni, the Zoo, and the museums so grand.

I cannot wait to pull you and Majima-san into the tightest embrace,
You will both wish that you had thought of a form of escape, or at least brought a bottle of mace.

I cannot wait to plant a kiss on both of your faces,
And exploring together and seeing all kinds of different places.

Part VII: Conclusion

You deserve so many beautiful words to be written and sent your way,
And I wish nothing but happiness and positivity to radiate in your tomorrows, but especially today.

Enjoy this very moment before pondering of what may come,
And never forget your struggles, experiences, values, and where you came from.

I want nothing but the very best for you, happiness and joy,
To appear at every point in your life, my beautiful and sweet boy.

I hope to be there through all the challenges that you overcome and goals that you complete,
Especially life’s experiences and all the hardships that make it bittersweet.

I love and adore you, so very much,
I am looking forward to holding you in my arms and feeling your touch.

With much love,
Witty Kitty

Turning eighteen,
Suppose to be an adult;
feeling like a tween
  ex sad careless teen,
In the present not where I'm suppose to be,
grief of a loser,
Caught in the in between;
self inflicted headshot,
Or being who I want to be

I like the picture of you
all silk skin and lean muscle
but not everywhere
giggles
I just stop to stare
Completely mesmerised
I like to practice kissy faces
into the mirror of your eyes
I like how the milk from
your breakfast cereal
runs down your chin
I want to chase it
with my tongue
I like how the honey
that drips from your pancakes
reminds me of *** and sin

I like how we have
the same routine
Wake up, make up
Shower together
my hand prints
shoulder high on the screen

I like to do yoga poses
to the moves you make
as you ride your girlfriend
but, make no mistake
I have a headshot of me
with a bit of blu tac on back
that I can move around the screen
whenever she's in the scene
and...
I'm liking how you ride me!
It's like Yoga nirvana!
you'll never find the cameras...

I Love you and bananas!

I walked into the dark forest willingly
My heart was numb, broken and weeping
Head filled with agonizing thoughts and negativity
Yet, I continue strutting like it was nothing

Slapped by twigs, pierced by sharp rocks
As I walked deeper into the forest
I bleed and healed with visible marks
It doesn't hurt, thus I need no rest

The journey continued and I saw a shadow
We draw close and I stepped back with caution
From the corner of my eye I know
That this shadow is no simpleton
Nevertheless I tried to play along with this foe

Shadow feeds sweet seeds of poison that the trees believe
And everything was masked by a mountain of lies
And that I was continuously hit by a branch, root, and a leaf
I kept falling over till my mind, soul and spirit dies

I lay on the ground motionless and broken
Wondering if I should give darkness a second chance
It's a game of 1000 vs 1
A game full of prejudice, unjust and angst

I stood up and persistently hold my broken pieces together
Tumbling, falling and plunging into casualties
Still I positioned confidently like no other
I safely walked away from the evil shadow beast

As I smile with freedom, I was greeted with warmth
In this dark forest I nestled with tender fairies
Soon darkness came with another shadow like death
Full speed headshot knocking you off your knees

Unwelcomed, I escaped and ran for my life
Exhausted and in pain I saw my refuge drawing close
A ball of light getting brighter as I run with time
Squinting as I pushed myself into that brilliant safe house

Out of the dark, I found myself
Older and wiser with wonder scars
Hopping forward like a happy elf
Opening another chapter without wars

An unbitten bullet
The truth penetrates
My ears
Reverberating through my skull
A fatal headshot
To my trust
You
Who love the role of martyr
Now have victims of your own
Put to death
In a covert assault
Don’t tell me to relax
Don’t tell me that
Everything’s alright
It’s not
That I’m unforgiving
Obviously
You never wanted forgiveness
You wanted to sustain
The immaculate perception
You paid so much to enjoy
Trust, oaths, innocence
Everything has been defiled

Mr. Movie

Locked and loaded, ready to go
I can already hear sneakers squeak on the linoleum floors
Everything plays out in slow motion
I guess the movies get some things right

There’s really not much to aiming down sights
nothing too complicated about squeezing a trigger
What I never prepared for is the ease of being a star
Each and every kid or teacher I shoot just sinks down
no dramatic death scenes or stupid monologues
Hell, they don’t say much at all
maybe one or two grunts on the way down

I’ve got to hand it to Arnold
When I missed just to the left of his heart, guy didn’t quit
He looked like one of those soldiers in training montages
Our brave hero crawled under the bodies of students rather than barbed wire
I didn’t expect the show
My appreciation of his ingenuity was a headshot

I make my way around the lower level of the school
A peculiar sight catches my eye
Some ****** appears to be spying on my work
He’s got one nice piece of shining metal clutched in a fist

Who’s this interesting character?


Mr. Minute

It’s finally ******* time!
This morning, I tossed my calendar in the trash
Today’s the day
I circled it in red sharpie

Geometry bored me as usual
I looked to my left and right with a private smile
None of the ******* around me could see the truth
Judgment Day was upon them
While Mccarthy droned on about triangles, my eyes stayed on the clock
Passing period was only five minutes away
That’s when I’d whip out my revolver
That’s when these ***** would know their time was up

Imagine my surprise when I heard gunshots down the hall
I quickly unzipped my backpack, took out the gun, and blasted open Mccarthy’s head
The other kids took a couple of seconds before screaming
I was too busy peering out the door to mind them
How the hell was this possible?!
I planned this out since the idea first popped into my mind
Some ****** was trying to steal my schedule

*Not on my watch

I don’t wanna be alone
wait for me
somewhere near the sheep

the sheep and her three
the sheep in the box
invisible to the eye

with love, unemphatically
in a good will shot
a headshot

hear me if survived
near, waiting there
dear, not to be alone

Brothers in War
Why did the two brothers fight one another?
In opposing armies on the same battlefield
Because one was Latvian and the other Russian
Both had the same father but different mothers
The Latvian one welcomed the Nazis when they came
For he was fascist and hated communists
He collaborated and was happy for a few short years
Till fortunes of war made the Soviets come
The Nazis left after battling the new Soviet occupiers
The Latvian bro knew what would happen so was ready
He fought the Soviet invaders with his Mauser rifle
Killing many but eventually being cornered in a village
There were informers about and the Soviets knew
With no escape he vowed to never surrender
The Russians sent his Russian brother to **** him
There was no negotiation for he was a collaborator
His bro tried to flush him out with machine gun fire
And then with accurate rifle shots hoping for a headshot
The Latvian bro had two shots left including one for him
When his chance was there he took it and fired
The Russian bro was a loyal communist and wanted promotion
But he slipped up in his zeal and got nailed by his bro
Who then blew his own ******* head off with his big toe
Thus died two brothers on opposing sides and ideologies
Now forgotten by all except the ghosts

There is
Never enough time.
I see the body
In its lowest state,
Filled with poisons and
Mistakes.
Though, the music
Is nice to hear and
Old friends who smile weakly
Into the sun
Remind me of my youth,
My parents, when
Things were not easy, not hard.
When things were just that:

Things.

Yet it's hard to believe
To believe in believing.
There is so much.
And it's hard to see when
You've been seeing that way
For so long, yet
One wants to change.
Every animal stays the same,
Except for us.
We are the only ones
Willing to destroy for ourselves.

The bullets and the knives and the gas
Spread over the land like a death fog.
One day there will be nowhere to run.
Mother nature will not be there with her *****.
She will leave and we the ones who've sent her away.
Silver ores her eyes, pine needles her smile,
Her arms and legs stretching forth
One thousand and one million miles.

It's a sad day
When one no longer
Listens to themselves.
Feels themselves.
Touches themselves.

When you lose yourself
To the noisy temptations
Of the outside world and are lost
Like a leaf in river
Like a feather in a gale
Like a heart on the shoulder
And everything starts to feel
A little bit older and you
Start to think about death and how
Boring it truly is.

I'm more put off by my own predictable demise
Than afraid of it.
Sometimes I hover the knife around the neck
Just to see if the wind will
Push it so.
Sometimes no control is better than all of it.
Sometimes it's good just to listen.
Acting all the time must get old and I see these
Fake smiles with dead eyes knee jerking with headshot
And resumes, hoping for that next big job.

More smiles.
More head nods.
More handshakes.
More lies and money.

More promises unworthy
Of being remembered.

But,
What else is there
Except the constant butchering
Of the truth.

It keeps us fighting.
It keeps us searching.
It keeps us on our feet
Rather than on our backs

In the grave.

And when I lay my weary head
On the pillow or the dirt, the rock, where have you,
And I blink my last blink and
Sigh my last breath,
I will think of you, dear reader and dear page,
And how well and how little

I knew you.

The only way this was ever going to work
Was by separation
And by trust.

We are just drifting contradictions
Who love and hate and live and die,
Screaming beautiful magic until
We can't scream

Anymore.

what social stigma about wearing masks?
well... in all honesty...
i do feel kind of stupid wearing
latex gloves and a surgical mask...

i am, not, a surgeon...
     where's the body to find an atlas
of my arms?
    nowhere... exactly!
       i was almost punished into wearing
a mask outside...
i started thinking of halloween...
where is my devil mask...
where is my... madre muerte mask?

but what of the social "stigma":
the conspiracy theory and tin-foil hats
and waiting for the sputniks
of the whittle green-men?

social stigma...
                 ha! i quiet like it...
i can what all the women dodging
physiognomy affairs have done...
since at least 700AD...
   i can't look this "affair" as a social
stigma concern...
i just... pretend... there's a niqab vacant...
any distinguishing features...
oh yeah: that beard will just not fold
in under a surgical mask...

then again: what i wouldn't...
but otherwise do...
with a devil's mask...
               right about now...
             suffocating in...
               or rather... exfoliating with...
show me the proper gimp suit!
the old halloween should have
mattered...
       oblitarated by...
caughing... everything looked so serene
when Chernobyll didn't have a will...
but at least...
there are no side-effects...
akin to lilac mushrooms growing out
from under armpits and between
toes...
a hideous affair...

                          otherwise...
one almost wishes for there to be symptoms
more potent... more visible...
not this... shy flu...
  this: headshot and dropping dead...
like those victims of john allen muhammad...
i'm not hearing anything about...
bubonic plague blossoms...
leprosy flakes... mushrooms willing
to grow in man's armpits... lilac...

the evolution of a virus... well...
let's mind the aesthetic...
and let's mind... the evolution of the virus...
of not exposing itself as immediately...
evident... there are no apparent...
"facts"... only subversive narratives...

       i don't mind wearing a surgical mask...
i do mind that there is no surgury for me
to undertake...
i promise you: even Dickens could
waste a paragraph on this sort of:
self-congragulating... pompously formal
language refrains...
or what-not...

        all i'm saying...
if death was baptised with: the great anonymity
of the communist gulags...
no numbers even to date... to unearth...
then "the virus" was giving into
the great aesthetic of turning into stealth:
covert...

           in that self-replicating perfection...
by god: to have only a tsunami to see...
or an earthquake to feel...
or follow the herd nihilism and fatalism of
Pompeii...
         but there are no lilal mushrooms
growing from my armpits...
no bogus pillows of fuss
when pierced turning into... sparkle of
the communication highway of...

      the next lick of the post-stamp...
the stampade of: clickbait: sent sent sent...

"how soon is now?"
  well i've been using female deodorant...
and reading poems by colts...
16 year old boys in first time loves...
and i'm beginning to become...
very... fond of female deodorant... dove...
esp... since it equips me with
a scent of soap... under my armpits...
which is such a neutral scent...
and there's nothing sporty...
or masculine about it...

             i'll just baptise my hands
in the earth... as i garden...
and feed into the concept of: esq. as borrowed
from the victorian period...
and... forget to read the newspaper...
most probably the times...
that centrist... right? i guess right...
magic-"thought"-machine...
but the weekend comes and the opinion
columns come in...
and there's this restaurant critic...
with two houses...
one in London and one in the Cotswolds...
and i am...
                     there's no...
     basement or a single mother...
            there's no attic...
i would love to have an ed gein little brother
handy to go... kite-running...
or chasing mice...

     this is the newspaper of me being...
"best... best-of: besting" a crowd of the...
ahem... "well-informed"...
     i am a restaurant critic...
        i am not...
                    i much appreciate the old halloween...
if they could see us now...
i see the devil... and he's... only a dumb...
irritating b'aah b'aah... trembling at the gown
before losing it... knee high...
to a ****-it-all-carousel ride up
an imaginary everest...

            i will have to think about about
squandering handshakes...
but of course i will not...
i'll see it an acre ahead of me...
a possible suspect...
so i cross the street...
and in all this glory of british idiosyncracy:
i can become as weird as i want to...
what... with stories of people purposively
coughing... sneezing... spitting...
on key-workers...
  and all the other workers...
the idle... membrane caste...
the office paper-parasites...

                    of the work most terrifyingly
viable... and... necessary...
oh the woe of insinuation that...
they can indeed stay indoors...
because: such is the demand for them being
preoccupied with "professions"...
such "important" very "important"
hobbit-people...

      the surgical masks are go!
i've been so... so ******* jealous of playing
Batman every time i saw a niqab strolled
casually... i can finally be what i've always
wanted... a ***** of Muhammad's harem...
i can... start considering a tortoise shell
like a... like a... stained glass fraction piece...
to fit it with burning embers of replicated
quest for: gesticulating devotion...
fit the riddle with singing chandeliers
and... calcium... a pouch rock of the most
necessary fiddle-with...

the ****'s up with american-english...
and a surname...
i hear it... first time... probably the last time...
'coal-bear'... o.k. i type it in..
coal.... bear...
   wait... no... wait... this is not a joke...
this is not some 16 year old's love... frenzied fancy...
it's gavin mcinnes...
coal... bear...
      must be a canadian "thing"...
it's still not a joke...
keeping up appearances...
   it's mrs. beau-kay...
            beau-             -qay...
McfuckingQee...
     one of those nookie incidents...

is that the one where...
the H is a surd...
and Bill gets the preferential roman
empire treatment of: m'ah: air...
or "mayor"... or... mÆr?
           marr... merr... myrh... fff... fff...
   "coal-bear"...
mrs.: bucket(t): yes the added T because...
hell... samuel... beckett...
        col-bert!
                  col........... bert-rand ru-ß-ell!
ha... the germans will never see this one
coming... sure sure... the... digraph of S und Z...

what about the digraph or R and Z?
in... oh... the e.g. of schwarz?!
i'm no german but... the ß is a little bit: "devoid"...
looks like we need a russian roulette...
schwarц!

             w'ah w'ah... volkswagen:
                 woo... wearisome: verily though...
why this... pandering to the francophones...
coal-bear... am i... DEAF... or something?!
colbert...
              ah... if it's not coal-bear...
but... simply: colbert...
it's like someone with a surname...
smith... or: kovalski...
          what cow?
                   ******* excesses of anglo-saxon
immigrant leftovers of phonetic
schlomo slang...
                     what's wrong with a distinct
and pristine... crisp piece of paper tow
of an ending with T...
oh forget the R... the tarantulla bit you:
you tongue is numb... you will not find the trill
of the R, ever... again...

- and the trouble the punk is that...
the cool kids: the gatekeepers...
and... what's "allowed" and what "isn't":
that mojo ****-fest of...
come before the court of the crimson king...
can-do...
C = K...
            but... calipathe isn't exactly a (k)nife...
since... the latter is a surd...
a greek rubric:
                            ψ = π = σ = "sigh"...
but not really...
              ψychology...
                      in that... ψyχology...
"C"overt... and a chimera...
but not a... CHeat!

                  i could never fall in love with punk...
sure... high fidelity...
and... stiff little fingers... the end...

                 Calvin Klein...
                      if... once upon a time...
all it took was a ****** to woo
the spontaneity... now there's a blue...
chequers and chase?
can i please become
the next... "next": Garrincha...
and become a ****** again:
and lose "it": to the goat... like he did...
or to a cow... standing upon...
a peddlestool?
or the stone that... Sysiphus rolled up
that vanity avenue of a...
hill?

the intricacies of a fly biting:
but first regurgitating its juices...
to slurp up the digestive puddle first...
i say... who would need any exposure
to bone: to later wither in a proclamation
of a shmile... better the puddle of
the stomach: intuitively...
laid before you...
all that's required is the milkshake...
and the slur(r)-p'ah!

******* ideologues of darwinism...
so worried about their hard-ons...
they shun the alcoholic goldfish...
for... a ditto-head paradigm...
     to boast about the ape...
always with those apes...
there is never... any... mention of
the nobility of swans or of rooks...
or the motherhood of whales...
it's always with those... ******* apes!

i like the sound of mimic...
involuntarily conscripting the volume of...
bugs... i like the sound of...
toasting... crunching...
"slimey"... yet... "satisfying" sushi...

ha ha... mr. colbert... no no... apologies!
coal-bear!
mr. colbert, n'est(-ce) pas?

again: to reiterate...
no... nein nein nein...
one of those "et tu" scenarios?

tout de ce?!
                 arm-band... a dragon
for the yield:
           Çymreag...
       as i am past looking up...
the h'american *******...
because i've been regurgitating its...
cultural "woke" with so much...
so much of what's otherwise...
the whittle oasis of europe...
this chinese libersation
army of microbes...
has allowed "us" to...
put a... sinking sensation of the last
h'american export enterprise...
youtube videos...

           because i love each and every
language: so...
that comprise... this... well...
established... lack... of... egoistic...
cuckerry (with viagara aids)...
lucky for me...
the brothel: bei der bereit!!!!!

any english is better than the english...
spaghetti twiting its way out
of the confines of... h'america...
   yes: dear citizen leader...
yes... citizen king... yes yes yes!
yes: before we get to speak to the president!
there's a membrane of mcdonald's to
sieve through!
yes... mr. here: yes mr. right!
oh yes: mein mein "j.f.k." my raynold:
reginal... raymond and knline and keagan...
and my... reagan!

              yes my wall in berlin...
yes my: eisenvorhang...
ja: meine siliziumpäpstin!
ja! ja! wunderbar!
                   beifall! gründlich beifall!
teufelzirkus!
perhaps... the essential gratification
could have come with...
the slowed down blitzkrieg of
the blitz cloud over London...

                   aber...
                                     what zeppelins?
this borrowed tongue...
and its host...
    to speak... so freely a whittle bit of german...
a crumb of it... in this... peacock garden
of the inverted satellite state and...

i was alone as i walked past
the union jack and i aided my shadow to
concern itself with a reply...
you wouldn't want to think it...
but i think it, nonetheless....
there is no more brilliant concern for
the entity of flags...
in this world... beside...
the union jack...

             what a keeper this ol' jack o' all
trades!
               i'm sorry... my venture from
Galicia teasing ends... here...
on the unionist parade of an ol' 'ipper...
because: god forbid i would become
an albino: integration sensation under
the 'tars and 'anner...
or whatever the name is...
'tars and 'tripes: no?

              vivid... the... insult served upon
the... whereabouts of the wind-hunters...
the Persians and the Greeks...
it's almost like: breathing backwards...
or finding carbohydrates in choking!

because the gravitas is there!
it's not enough to simply allow zeppelins
to drop bombs...
so much more: soul infuriating
a counter-blossom:

that white is: weiß
that black is: schwarц...
         burden my soul for this avenue of
the egomaniac saxon...
the pauper swabian lot of... "Überbleibsel"...

and unlike "our" h'american counter-parts...
we do feast on a "good fight" with...
hands... and the arithmetic of knuckles...
rather than egoism and ******* measurement...
and that long-forgotten backbone
of the... "weltbürgerwahlspruch"!

so much... "arbeitnotwendig" in...
the... vicinity...
  arbeit?! was arbeit?!
         ghost buses?!
                    "necessary"...
parading uniforms?
        that's... work... yes?
                     by the looks of it...
3/4 is not necessary... work... as work is
to be exaggerated...
        abflusseskapaden...
or poaching the seal that... claps...
for the future of the already emptied
theatre!

social stigma...
surgical masks... no surgery apparent...
well i just look at the good sisters of islam
wishing us the 11th plague of god
and all those concerns for the righteous living
through this "tsunami"...
and i'm... given the sort of solace that shouldn't
be required... as i... pretend to imitate
donning a ninja-niqab!

i love my cats to be... escque bookmarks...
sphinex worthwhile
to be willing to be dragged
into the grand yawn
of hell; we'd call death a leisure
activity: a golf whirlwind would
be: oops...
or that better performing:
punctuation marker;
******* break-in
woo a woke-bit-sigh trill R...
let's just forget it...
call it whatever lust is required...
that never ****-yard
and duck-quax... "limbo"...
this... aphrodite's ******* sterling...
which you towed as...
the name to buy...
Calibos née Thetis...
this name to borrow...
what is the meaning of life?
the "beatrice"...
to live a life that's also worth the meaning
behind one's name...
some would call it: baby...
some would rather...
claim... a ****** rifles' sniffing at an aim...
headshot and a brain hemorrhage
interlude: spine break...
the "guillotine" and the english hanging...
Calibos née Thetis!
leave me eating the teeth i would
otherwise use to chew!
i tend to forget that woman
is part of romance...
when... there's no longer
any ******* involved...
and only the rearing of children...
that there's a lady gaga...
because there's no billy joel...
and...
worship a snail for a wish
for a hard-on.

She was the last of her kind
black carded for the headhunters
it was a race to whom would get the hit
poor Chariot was in deep ****

Most were armed to the nines
for Chariot was a clever monkey
her hit list was of kings and queens
she was a formidable opponent

Faster than light
one of the fighter elite
a killer most complete
trained well in the art of war
I called her Babylons *****

This was going to be ******
killer on killer rules
taking her out
oh my god was a sweet pleasure

Poor Chariot did not have a chance
I took out five others of mine just to get to her first
I wanted that pinned to my rapture
as I hated her more than most to capture

No headshot for her
I took her out classically
hanging on a lamppost
upsidedown naked as born


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

I see the lunes sliced out by angel eyes from the aether,
Longstanding inertia flipping through history's pages

I exist for the sole purpose of satisfaction,
So watch stigma grow in concentric rings of blood
That make you think he must have done something to deserve a good headshot.

Selfish, selfish, selfish...
That's all I am, right?
And you stand silent in the form of a steadfast willow
But there was an angel somewhere around who said,
"Go away!"

This is so embarrassing
But we stitched it closed and I flirted with a saprophyte:
Hello little friend
What have they called you,
And what science have you been radiating into our minds?

I can't escape my own gravity, though
And I pull at the fine fabric of grace,
Making angels cry.

Why does it seem like you're so right
When you look at me that way?
No one is looking at you any way!
Or, I see what you mean, I do
But it can't explain this to itself

You will give it to me more directly than that, sure
But I promise you it will make no more sense than this!
You'll disagree.

But there were autumn leaves and firefly shows
Thoughts in between thoughts that supposed they were at least on a spectrum
Rainbows in polluted puddles
And wondering if I'm actually helping but being glad to be able to wonder it,

There were thoughts about satisfaction,
And what if there was only one thing,
And how satisfied would it be with itself?
How would it feel about itself, and how are things accomplished?
There were beautiful canine heroes
And fathers of heath and hardwood,
Imbued within the gilded conscience of everything,
I was so beautiful, and I did give heed to the dark corners
And I loved the dark corners
And the dark corners will never admit that I loved them but I did,
I tried, my heart went out to them
It will never be enough! And then I realized it's me

There were great songs I wrote but I did not need their approval,
I was beautiful inside too, with a curious heart and active imagination,
I was not ugly inside like you have said and will probably say again,
I was actually beautiful,
And I was extremely intelligent,
Though you might draw lines around me that make 100% sense,
You will see me as small when I say,
"I understand everything, though!"
But I actually do, and intelligence is a quality I've been endowed with
I am one of the Great Philosophers of Time,
I'm just saying, you seem to continually want to characterize me as average and unimpressive
But just in my own mind I want to emphasize how brilliant I am
The doubters and naysayers are just emergent trash
I only listen to the realities that serve me
And that is intelligent of me, especially if I'm aware of certain properties of the universe!
But I do not expect validation, because, well, duh, it has to be that way
See? Your disapproval (of me) is so stupid! I'm laughing at it

Unless, that is, I am equivalent to your circumstances of poverty
Sometimes the circumstances are bleak
Maybe because all I can do, in a version of the truth, is take
And so in that case I would say I can't help it and I legitimately am sorry
I am not laughing at that person but you can see how this can get complicated
But anyway........

You are not your own mother
There is a real person who loves you
You don't have to face that yet,

There were rivers of beautiful people all so full of love
And we don't know what happened but sometimes they experienced really horrible things
And they had to hold one another accountable,
Which was extremely hard to do but at least they tried, oh, at least they tried
Yes it was so ugly and it makes me want to cry.
Trying anything, as it turns out, is not just difficult but quite impossible
Yes I know I tried things but you have to kind of squish them away from the whole thing to get anything out of it,
And it doesn't want to stay that way because it's all tethered and stuff

Laurels, laurels, laurels.

Passing through laurels and Indian cucumber-root.

You don't even realize what you're saying.

Yes I do, I've read her rants on facebook, that's all this is.
It's funny how I don't realize I'm looking at myself with a cocked head, that's a mocked head. Oh, you're such an enigma.

Laurels, laurels, laurels.

Laurels and bear corn. Trilliums and pink lady slippers. Wood nettle and bryophytes. My thoughts are like Ramaria time lapsing into a dry spell. I start learning things but I'm burning a candle at both ends. You can be an expert on subjects, but I have some sort of disadvantage that I can't escape. And I even understand what's going on with that aspect, but it is a great frustration. It's weird because of the omni-tension, like the squishing thing I was describing earlier, it causes me to want to be something I can't, I guess it has something to do with Lilith, but I will always round out to be something I accept as pretty **** good, but then I have to let it go.