For the helluvit, the hollow wit of an Emcee/ I noticed my character questioned," what exactly is an etiquette story?"/ I could not answer the banter entailed to the name/ and so I word smith as though my cutting pen had pierced the name/...an Expression that beckoned a game played/ the mental stage an Arena Athena has still Graced/ Aphrodite the deity seeking only one form of Pay/ but the wages and all its royalties only gain me the Grave/ hey, for the Helluvit, He love it for no reason at all/ had a liking for shallow sentences like," all I know is to Ball"/ and so the Fall, would," leave" him 'miss pro ported'/ the Autumn of automation debatin if she's distorted,/ the vision He had held in Kind/ the mind remains a battle field/ rattle deals with the serpents heel/ what an expression to mention Medusa's gaze is real/ 6 inch High shoes to step on me to squeal/ my spleen splattered as Hades collects a second corpse to feal../ I mean fill, I was literally rhyming /a rhetoric for mythical geeks and nerds who feel time the Timing../ of the note came at a time when/ life just took a turn for the logical practice/ philosophical addict/ tell em get it straight , or lay gay with the treacherous habit/ of being lazy to account for all gimmicks that lasted/ a year or so when you coulda stopped em in they tracks then/ but they became Jamaicans at the olympics and they Past/..You, as indirect as a local commercial/ never care for the ones you hurt for they come back to hurt you/ inhumane you moving by instinct/ you love feeling the pain but know it is distinct/ from the joy that really comes in the Morning, a Dark "knight"/ Risen from the ashes of the carnage, and just might/ break in to the crack of dawn/ kick the bucket full of the prawns/ from fishin up for Men formally known as Pawns/ to the greatest chess game never played/ one is infinitely the victor the other eternally graved/its either you're a slave that Kills or a slave that here to help Save//.....Humanity.
  by my mentor D.E.S.T.R.O

All in, do nothing, or do this

line by line imagine-ing, the verb behind what if,
the quest ion, sparking attention at the mention

cognosis troubler, bull in a china shop,

bringer of missile launching knowledge to fight with
a fuzzy visioned ****** breed of Andre stature,

pinged, 'im. Right between the eyes...

imagine doing that on the nineth at Pebble Beach,
with a nine iron, poised to

smack
a pink and white Ping classic purchased on Ebay for six bucks.

-- can't get that picture,
-- never had the feeling of whacking ball after ball into the desert, for the helluvit... if you missed that

you must have a metaphor of your own, for aiming at nothing,
and hitting dead center every time.