Ancient Greece; Greek: Ελλάς, translit. Ellas; was a civilization belonging to a period of Greek history from the Greek Dark Ages of the 12th–9th centuries BC to the end of antiquity (c. AD 600).
Immediately following this period began
          the Early Middle Ages & the Byzantine era;
Roughly three centuries after the Late Bronze Age
collapse of Mycenaean Greece,              Greek urban poleis began
to form in the 8th century BC,        ushering in the Archaic period
& colonization of the Mediterranean Basin.
                     This was followed by            |          Classical Greece;
an era that began w/ the Greco-Persian Wars, lasting
from the 5th to 4th centuries BC.                   Due to the conquests
by Alexander the Great of Macedonia,                    Hellenistic
civilization flourished from Central Asia to the western end
of the Mediterranean Sea; The Hellenistic period coming to an end
w/ the conquests & annexations of the eastern
          Mediterranean by the Roman Republic,
                  first          establishing the Roman province of Macedonia
in Roman Greece, & the later province of Achaea during the Roman Empire;                              Hell, in many religious & folkloric traditions,
is a place of torment & punishment in the afterlife;
                         Religions w/ a linear divine history
                   often depict several hell[s] as eternal resort-like destinations
         analogous
             to exile
         while religions w/ a cyclic history often depict hell
                    as an intermediary layover between fantastical incarnations;
        Typically these traditions locate hell in one or another
                    dimension, or even under the Earth's surface &
often include entrances & exits to & from Hell from the land of the living sky above [many mortal men are known to have traveled to the underworld or consorted w/ devils & demons so-called: Orpheus, Jesus, Faust, Robert Johnson & Aleister Crowley:               Other afterlife destinations include
Heaven, Purgatory, Paradise, & Limbo;
Other traditions,     which do not conceive of the afterlife
as a place of punishment or reward, merely describe Hell
as an abode of the dead, the grave, a neutral place
located under the surface of Earth, for example Sheol & Hades [my old, old neighborhood]; In Greek mythology, Helen of Troy; Greek: Ἑλένη, Helénē, pronounced [helénɛː],               also known as Helen of Sparta,
or simply Helen,                       was said to have been
                                          the most beautiful woman in the world,
who was married to King Menelaus of Sparta,
but was abducted by Prince,       Paris of Troy,    resulting in the Trojan War
  when the Achaeans set out to reclaim her & bring her back to Sparta;
                She was believed to have been the daughter of Zeus & Leda,
     & was the sister of Clytemnestra, Castor and Polydeuces;
Leda & the Swan is a luridly pornographic story involving *******
                   & rarely depicted artistic subject from Greek mythology
in which the god Zeus, in the form of a swan, seduces Leda;   Leda thus bearing Helen & Polydeuces, enchanted godling offspring of Zeus
[thus
                                     Helen was a demigod
              like Orpheus, Heracles, Achilles & Dionysus, fulfilling the rank &
                                    status  of the Biblical Nephilim  /ˈnɛfɪˌlɪm/ (Hebrew: נְפִילִים‬, nefilim) the offspring
of the "sons of God" & the "daughters of men"                before the Deluge, according to Genesis 6:1–4:
A similar or identical biblical Hebrew term,
read as "Nephilim" by some scholars, or as the word "fallen"
                                                         appears in Ezekiel 32:27:
                      When people began to multiply from the face of the ground,
                      rolled into shape & being by the first insects,
     an army of scarabs doing
     clean-up after creation                                 before the invention of ants
                                   to maintain order on the most basic level of newly mined nature & once the creatures made of dung molded in the moist crevices of the earth into the shape best suited to them
      copying the mandrake so to claw their way out of the soupy ionized  
                                                       ­     electrified    mud;
some w/ female bits formed by hatchling sea anemone,
jellyfish & globular secreting sacks,            while some only a stick &
             two rocks hanging in a thin leathery pouch, looking like eggs,
             but Surprise!    [men continuing to be surprised to this day]
                          growing upright & naked,
               sloughing of their insect overlords while taking up insects ways of farming & irrigation,  taking hundreds of centuries
to build the towering hives of their ancestral youth
when the ants & bees & lone beetles taught them how,        the squadrons of
                 butterflies never shared their ability to transform from
                    a segmented crawling garden slug
                  to the highest form of flying insect               regaled majestically
in
the            colorful royal emblems of their tribes]
        & daughters were born to them, the Sons of God seeing that they were fair & took wives for themselves of all that they chose;
Then the Lord said, "My spirit shall not abide in mortals forever,
for they are flesh; their days shall be one hundred twenty years."
The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—& also afterward—
when the sons of God went in to the daughters of humans,
who bore children to them; These were the heroes that were of old,
                                              warriors of renown.
— Genesis 6:1–4,        [New Revised Standard Version]
The word is loosely translated as giants in some Bibles
& left noticably untranslated in others; The "Sons of God" interpreted
      to be fallen angels according to some classical Judaic explanations;
                      while at the same time Leda bore Castor & Clytemnestra,
      children of her mortal husband Tyndareus,                            
                                            the King of Sparta;
                       The Judgement of Paris the event that led to the
        Trojan War, & in slightly later versions to the founding of Rome

It seems as if,
You only witness the death of time,
And fail to experience it

Making this mistake is horrid,
Watching death as it luridly kills
Everything,

No, Please

Encounter me

Black and white photo of horror in color
From a safe distance of many years
I luridly recall your details.

At the airport, I see your fearsome construction
I marvel at how it came together
And struggle to understand how and why, because
I couldn’t help then and I failed to help now.
Regret draws me closer.

Trespassing through a farm, stealing the earth
Late for work and malicious at birth
A hungry wind with a green sky calling card.
Darkening danger almost on top of us,
as dad watches from the garage
and we play in the front yard.
“Open the windows. . . get in the car!”

Only a few seconds to gain enough distance.

Our school, our home, our hands and voices
Couldn’t hold on or offer enough resistance
against the finger of God.

I couldn’t help then and what am I doing now?
Regret sweeps me away.

i live inside a bubble, fly with me into this bubble
life used to be a hustle, but it ain't anymore
gotta make summin' or gotta take summin'
come fly with me, my cubies are shining whitely

i reside on a planet which is full of whole ones
re'in up for all the phantoms, their fandoms
art nouveau balcony, bluely shimmering rooms,
you enter the hallway like dreams, embers in ya eyes

brother, i am all-night like owls, heavily religious
by the end of the day, i will be ******* the devil
we call that fly night, for everyone staying on it
luridly white marbles, everybody trippin', trippin'

our bubble is like frippin: frippin freely
and i'm skating through the garden, jeezy
today's my birthday: 500 peace of cake
my heart's racing, amg, i'll be waiting in the snow

fly with me, into this bubble, bubble
i wanna be higher than ever, higher
with me, there is no struggle, struggle
i'll take you with me, bubble, bubble, bubble

i'm praying, while i'm driving, and when 'm praying
i am thinking and i talk myself into a coma
raising in a 911, our bubble, bubble
stay with me inside that bubble, bubble

i am trustworthiy, since i been dealing with souls
but sometimes i freak out and jump out of my window
cause i read my palm lines and learned, when i'll die
so i grew myself a plumage, like birds, for our bubble

don't come lookin' for me, i'll be waiting in the snow
or under miami's sunset, nuns will be sinning
dem lyrics are for dogz, dem lyrics are for sinners
i want to come right now, just like a coup d'etat

cubies filled with magic, come into my bubble
the crowd is filling the castle and stars
are raining down, you close your eyes
you close your eyes, escaping into the night

fly with me, into this bubble, bubble
i wanna be higher than ever, higher
with me, there is no struggle, struggle
i'll take you with me, bubble, bubble, bubble

( I have posted this poem of mine on several different international poetry sites everytime there is a school shooting in the U.S as I care about all children deeply and feel for innocent lives lost.
This time in Uvalde, Texas, USA)

https://youtu.be/40KtlqpCN0I

TELLY TROUBLE AND DANGERS
What kids are watching on telly
are crimes and crimes in all variety!
Crimes of hate
crimes of passion
acting it out at shocking rate
thinking in some wild fashion
then ending up cell mates
TV can **** their compassion
Their coffins enter cemetery gates

When kids watch their movie heroes
shoot down people with the gun
they are incited to do the same
to achieve some thrill and fun.

When they see their very film star
slash someone's throat in a fit of anger
they think well of crimes of rage
and plunge everybody else into danger.

The tendency to portray the violent scene
luridly and shockingly on the Big Screen
Ah, even for the small screen, tis the gory
that makes for the dark and thrilling story.

Now that technology's long opened
this wily pandora's box,
the dispersal of amplified social ills
just ain't no hoax

The rowdy hoodlums and reckless gangsters
are simply by-products of Tv influences
The world watches the thriving of the bully-boy pranksters
passively in helpless terror of their offences.

It's all portrayal of the ******, the obscene
by that devious Silver Screen
And the horror movie
though it may seem groovy
begets the horrendous
and drills evil thoughts subliminally
into the subconscious!

Viewing those gruesome swashbuckling films
gives rise to morbid sadistic whims
Flipping through the TV channels just ponder
if the telly's the perfect channel
of information is it a proper panel?

Dad always tells me, 'fear ye the roaches' flicking antennae?
While you oughtta fear the influence of 'em' flickering images by dish antennae'.

It's an unrestrained dark faking
of real life reality exaggerating
Whether it's Bollywood in the East
or it's Hollywood in the West
they don't merely impart tactics of defence
but rather those of aggressive offence

Just verbal tougher gun laws couldn't halt
even underage shooting sprees
Rather it's stringent scanning of Tv content
and banning citizens from acquiring guns
that might make it forever cease

Parental supervision too tis gravely essential
should've been of parental code quintessential
So the next time you catch your youth or teen
absorbed and engrossed while glued to the screen
Just sleuth a bit just to make sure
that for the ******* he's not too keen!

Only a mere single merit that I dug
as I drank cappucino in my mug
that atleast one couldn't live in a bubble
daily watching this bubblebug.

There is a path.
Its rickety bridges dangle you over the jaws of despair;
I welcome the jagged teeth with pursed lips.
A planet does not choose its sun.
This diminutive island orbits obediently, tracing an oblong avenue
Around a heavenly beacon which burns at close range,
But protects from the uncharted perils of a frozen infinity
Beyond the horizons of our understanding.

Books.
Here they are seemingly as plentiful as stars in the great expanse.
For every one I read, there are a thousand more
That could pour out of my fingertips without warning.
Here on these shelves (and in my hands) are words –
Legions of ideas, cries for help, and declarations of the self –
Collecting dust to pass the time.
Bound by a spine, each page is a painting,
Or a singular brush stroke;
It depends where on the museum’s crisscrossing paths
We place it.
I am allowed to manipulate
These likenesses with my own unkempt paws.
I sift through each layer with great care.
Poised above my isolated figure is a cloud of silence.
Luridly dark, it threatens to immerse every shelf in its corrupting solitude.
My fascination decays into sorrow.
Curators grow weary.
Thick lenses become damp with labored breath.
A tomb of these words encases the regenerative key
Our depleted cityscape so desperately needs.
But the museum has not received enough submissions; funding is being cut.
Fingers spanning a soiled palm have grown tired of the dirt.
Limp breezes are now strong
Enough to disconnect them
Permanently
From the words that burn at close range.
They allow themselves to drift, because it’s easier.
It is cleaner, more “cost-efficient”.
Straying from the museums, we drift from realization (from reality, even)
Into delusions of creation and achievement.
Lo! How accomplished we are!
We, the Cash-Rich People of the Thought-Poor States,
In order to form a more synergized union,
Do downsize the words that disseminate from our digits,
Dutifully drowning them out with more rambunctious
Gurgles from our gullets.


Curators warned and a generation of disobedient phalanges paid no mind.
My feeble hands mold a clay cadaver, grooving oily prints into its hull.
This incoherent signature will fall perpetually unnoticed between the cracks.
No one is looking.

He conjures conscience
constable of contrived control
pontiff in a pool of dogmas
commanding total touch
filigree lover, a shadow-figure
poses in folds of his focus
I am flush
He is the fury
Two isotopes fashioned for synergy's
ping-pong pleasing poetry
The poise
that invokes,
magic... Sticks and midnight
Strokes.

Magnanimously.

I try to bring love
as if it were the last remedy
in this, our irrelevant reluctance of relish,
our satin satire,

when we swell, swirl, swish
somehow we understand
kindled by this kink
kissed by kismet's lending allure
Luridly
He is the murk
Once I was the pure...

He stirs manx and mesh
a mint-tingle on my flesh
an open oyster
which offers black pearls
And quicksilver hush
Wrapped in a maddening shell
he is my guilty blush
I am his kiss and tell...

Each heart
Is a spinneret
Her threads
Woven
Into an aortal retinue
    A glistening floss
    Iced white by the sun.

And each soul
A strand
And each strand
A connection
And each connection
Luridly stretching for miles.

No trowel can break
This web
And though the stands are different
Between your web and mine
They were spun by love
And because I love you
What is dear to your heart
Is dear to mine.

They loosed the moorings from Cala Cogone prematurely, when the tide seemed to be lifting over the separate lumps in the dews of the hailstorms, and on the head of the Cyclops distancing itself from its corporeal organism. On a lavish and romantic day, they went to Genoa, to continue with their travel logistics to Piacenza. During the displacement Etréstles was contemptuous in the prow under the Shemesh that seemed to be a fearsome specimen, before an embroidered intestinal being stirred in his own dream, perhaps more longed for than a dual itinerary. While they slept, at the helm Etréstles argued ringing dressed in his black cyclamen tunic, the comrades were also sleeping with their rhapsodic physiognomic dreams, coloring mutinous gestural jaspers, on some faded signs that were deteriorating.

A chimera of Etréstles: “His off-center memory of him ..., was still in Izzana, the capers rumbed through the pathetic clouds over the gray tulles, and the layers of the sky tried to stop being a reign emeritus for a prince without a crown. The paradisiacal layer "kyklámino stémma", was glimpsed melted in the scattered limestone Nuraxis, turning into sticky aeroliths agglutinated in the deployment of the Conjuration, laying the rye species in the jaws, and on the head of Vernarth himself. As they continued with their abstract journey, they remained to parade with the legal aid in his own mirage. He tells her that: "I see them beyond from where their ceremonies collide, they cross eroding the vanished reason of their itinerancy." They get up and take the ship's moorings and attach them to the neck. Then they all cooperate to walk along the edge of a tracontero's sooty ship, moving them all barefoot…, waking up at once! Vernarth, try to wake them up, shake them off, but they don't wake up. And when he tried to evade him from sleep, he saw that he had the ropes on his neck, along with two Unicorns who were escorting him and looking at the infinity of the uni-****** between them tied to infinity itself, supporting that Genoa was already coming in front of its antlers. The others began to wake up and ate reclined, almost without any desire to rasp the cover full of self-sliding and unctuous linen, which allowed them to pass each one their own aperitif from Apollo's head, surrounding them in their cohorts inclusively, being semi dissipated and rolling down the hatch cover. Etréstles transferred the dream to Vernarth, once he went to his bedroom to rest before they touched the roadstead. At the foot of the homonymous promontory, 36 km from Genoa; Portofino could be seen, close to some spiral planks that floated in their hydro form, with Apollo's eyes narrowed and circumscribed in the radius of his orbital process, with submerged herrings that frolicked from Apollo's zygomatic, and in the regional natural garden of Portofino. They found different entrance gates through San Rocco, Portofino Vetta, and Nozaregoino, entering with the agaves on the way with different levels of accessibility and auriferous perspective escape. The path traveled from northwest to southwest on the same promontory that was hidden, communing with all beauty the Mediterranean vegetation, with its beautiful pine forests, and bluish scrubs in the waters of the Mediterranean, filling them with itching lungs, and especially in the offshoots of the Kardiá , silencing the peaceful companions by the suggestive Natural adonis in the indigo abyssal eyes.

Vernarth wraps himself in two linen cloaks and a spárgana for Etréstles, then intervenes, eclipsing each of the Unicorns from his uni-******. They frank him with their antlers on their pectoral, loving him with the subtle hint of attachment that is born from a primal genesis. His gesture softened the expectation that crowned the Empire of his cohort, with the impetus of Arbela, and in the semi-precious Onyx Crowns in chalcedony ..., lightening the gavels of the semi-precious sleep that awakened them before reaching the shores of Genoa. The land in Genoa, all descend in separate fractions and say goodbye, distantly gesturing their signs and making retro gestures with their hands dressed in the mineral encrusted with their rapacity. The ramblings showed on multiplex-rays at the levels of a growling aura, which instigated them to the enclave's inn among the algae that levitated on the ear tags of the ducks, and of some ruminant bluish unicorns, to reinsert themselves into the world of the adjacent daily chores of the cornucopia. The ship luridly hovered in the indigo bay, where it spurred on the Unicorns that were returning back to Sardinia, positioning itself in the bow bulb and in the stern the other to lighten the sails and return to Izzana.

The Scarabaeidae sing: “The Vernarthian tenor of Kaitelka carried them behind her with another Ballenid, this one carried the Demiurge Ezpatkul, with his prominent Augrum or Gold teeth that turned on the backs of all the borer beetles, delimiting towards a dialectic, and paraphrase of a qualitative satirical, especially in the form of Vernarth's sub-mythological genre. The sacredness of the unicorns was the winner of all the dull fantasies, pretending to raise the rainbow over their senses, delegating them remnant spatiality from the growing infinity. To praise the hypothesis of this whale, she sang native arias and cephalization ultrasounds in Genova, where she continued to harmonize the media in her cranial cavity, and in the muzzles that reached the larger fins, transmitting waves of parapsychological regression towards Vernarth.

Alone in my mind, heart and soul.........


Your name echoes
Through the streets
Dark and desolate
This is my mind

Your beautiful face
Resonates through pain
In an obscure fantasy
This is my mind

Your smile delights
The bleakest stairways
Secluded in fear
This is my mind

Your touch silently
Roams unnoticed
In the frozen corridors
This is my mind

I am oppressively tired
I have walked miles
Empty chambers of darkness
This is my heart

I am frigidly alone
Emptiness has stripped me
I am naked and feeble
This is my heart

I am emotionally frail
Pathetically opaque
Judgement has died
This is my heart

I am morbidly desolate
Exhausted and depleted
All feelings destroyed
This is my soul

I am luridly forsaken
By pain ravishing inside
Leaving nothing but darkness
This is my soul

Why did I do that?

Ego.  Lust.  Mystery.  Opportunity.
The lure of something new and untapped;
a scent unregistered, voice un-memorized;
inside jokes yet to be born.

Such a heady dervish dancing,
spinning, surrounding all that tiny life
I perceived as quite the opposite;
set in motion not so much by

the haunted eyes of the widow lady—
weaving once again well-worn epics
of her-story for an adoring audience,
luridly exploiting tragedy
for various personal gains—

but maybe by the way she stroked
that beer bottle while she spoke?

Without doubt, there were
other factors, but you were
never one of them.

I plead stupid.
Vain.
Shallow.
Self-absorbed.
Short-sighted.
Ridiculous.
­Unforgiveable.
Twenty-one.

For many years
I claimed, “If I make my mistakes
big enough I just might learn something”.

When I learned
there are no mistakes, recognized
my arrogance, gave up
to the universe, threw up
my hands and succumbed to the ride,
embracing my own sky...
all those times I’d thought of you
turned into stars raining
like tears of brilliant joy onto a black canvas,
formed overlapping constellations, and shone
like a *******.

Stars to wish on, stars
to navigate by, stars
to name on a starry night,
stars to twist into animal shapes
like a clown with long balloons—
and all those stars,
and there are more
than I can count—
settled forever in my heart
and cannot be dislodged.

Here I Iay on my virtual back,
atop my personal Alaska
dream mountain, on a summer
night deep as sin;
imagining you
laying beside me,
pointing out the brightest ones,
recounting the stories I’ve forgotten;
all those connections to you
twinkling overhead—
and I savor the
blessing of your
big bang smile

higher crimes and misdemeanors,
the accusations are long and detailed
just like the poems I write

the sentencing, sneeringly sententious and luridly sensational,
your vocabulary confiscated
and imposed upon you a concision (ouch)
write only poetic-succinctly

when I cried out from the dock,
“innocent!
the words own me, not I them,”
the words, my jurors, snickered,
the fix was in,
and the sentence of hard labor,
a bad rap time indeterminate,
spent in a cruel and unusual
panopticon,
a punishment to fit the crime


no, won’t tell you what it means,

a private verbalist’s hell

I want movies of Ava Cherry with no clothes on, lounging softly &
luridly, pulling me with Afro curly-cues on a **** trimmed torridly
as cool chick Sita Chan flies over a Hong Kong bridge discordantly

Act 1
a notarized copy of this testament
is on file with my attorney
in case of my untimely earthing
by the invisible x-ray background
driving another stake through my bleeding heart
but back to our semiotically comatose narrative
The Eel king rips off Bobby's latex facade
at last I have you captive Bandwidth
Eel's eyes narrow a smile edges his mandible
Bobby's eyes gone wide with no exit
prepared to submit to his conspicuous doom
humid vistas from the Matto Grosso
panned luridly before his convulsing eyes
ars pharmacopia little muffin went Eel
the time has come for your loving torment
Bobby was dragged to the Cistern of Woe
by a busload of nuns from Santa Pudenda
and tied into one of Escher's inhibition pretzels
above a pit of staring human eyeballs
Bobby had a plan murky at first
but with a blurred urgency that unveiled
his guardian cosmetician's skin graft
from the last 3 alarm conflagration epic
it had finally healed abused and maligned
tho still on oxygen or was it toxigen
no one knew much less the narrator
too harried by Fate for detail work
but I digress to a distressing degree
Bobby stared into the cesspool of his mind
illumined now by a wan spark of hope
he would gambit judiciously
the ancient and terrible pherome defense
as the squish of rain forest footsteps
and little gasps of manual stimulation
graced with wanton overtones came closer
it was LeMona the Eel King's daughter
a beauty that all the aniline dyes in the jungle
could not extinguish in a waterfall's fog
marched with retinue straight up to Bobby
he was instantly and cleanly detrousered by
her wheezing steam engine of debauchery
within microseconds seconds her tongue
was down his throat to the car park
he heard the bell in her navel ringing
and went limp like a doomed weasel
in the talons of a swooping Mongolian bercut
the Eel King became visibly ill humored
contain your infantile carnality
mischievously insistent pride of my *****
(to be continued)

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon

Sanctified and starry-eyed,
I thought I could have bad thoughts
and still sit dauntless
and debrided
on my mighty throne of miseries.

I thought I could pocket poison
and still polish my poems
with punch-drunk hands,
still bleed revere into the wide-open
unbearable,
still beg for big words to break
the uncanny uncertain,
still dance with a demon in a moth-eaten skirt,
still giggle like a new tango for your ballroom
brainwaves and barricades.

I thought my gaze could pin
your fancy and fury to my wrist,
let the rapture steal through the window,
burn down your pretense,
your pathological provocations,
and find us intertwined and divine.

Lovelorn and luridly-lit,
I thought I could spin you
to a dizzying depth of sirens and stars,
diffuse the bomb in your mouth
and be the ballast
for your throbbing, cracking heart,
your writhing wilderness,
your wretched wreckage.

I thought I could buck up-
brush my hair,
and rose-blush my way through
your strange dark and
your winding labyrinth;
the coiling curse
of your unquiet heart.

Jilted and jagged-pricked to the quick:
I thought I could be the saint of your history,
the angel of your archives,
the verses you could not flee,
the name you could not outrun.

I thought the city I built could outlast
your spite, I let you burn bridges
while I slept under them,
collect your sharpest flares,
your longest shadows,
and postmarked daggers,
then drown them in my last-resort lullaby.

The flames I stoked could do the dying for you,
and the sky I swore to keep
would not fall for you like I have.
I thought I could find the key to your riddle
and wear it like a necklace,
we lose our thread,
then find it as matching knots on our wrists.
It’s really not that hard to be
the answer to your own question,
you just have to know what to ask.

his eyelids conclude why bother
manacled they led him away
to the red beating heart of their city
in his mud brick cell they tried everything
cattle **** fire hose blow dryer
ineluctable forces of nature
now there are wires in his head
his neo-cubist portrait
ended up on bags of dog food
have you seen this child
we make too many monsters
for the safety of this planet
a petting zoo of pretty spiders
eager to charm uneager to learn
ever-ready to change the subject
claiming that this is the normal milieu
leaping from euphemism to euphemism
preconceptions luridly arrayed
detour around the temple kids
there’s mobsters in heaven
they don't tell you that but it is true
they run the gambling arcade of faith
the will he or won’t he tables
it should be clear by now that
prayer does not ward off plague
even for the willfully superficial
should we all be capable of greatness
or blind credulity you decide
behold the broadly entangled universe
in all its partly comprehensible splendor
the design that stuns with perfection
and then kills you so slowly
that your DNA begins to tell you
how when and what to think
it couldn't be more or less blatant
drifting in the eddies of a potential thing
in which the big impossibility happened
at least we know how to know more
stray as you wish into the arms of beauty
and rub against her silks and furs
make her mumble the irony the irony
her paranoia may be an entrance
but live for today is a sham
and a shuck and a jive
because tomorrow always comes
this is a mathematical given
the human condition
used to be specified as lost
now at least it’s curious

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon

I hate everything
I hate everybody
All my feelings wants and needs
Always get disregarded
I hate people
I hate love
I’m too cold hearted
That doesn’t mean I want anyone to die
That’s doesn’t mean I don’t want world peace
Just cause my heads always down doesn’t mean that someday I don’t wish to look up.
That doesn’t mean I inflict pain upon others.
God created me full of love
I hate it .
A painful shrine of my soul
In its humility, I digress
Why love when it gives you pain
Loves entice is sweet but the illusion is even sweeter
Ignorance prey
Luridly innocent
I hate that nothing is real
I hate that everything is fake
I hate that
it’s nothing
but pain
with every breath I take
I bow my head and close my eyes
And wait for God to make me fit for the skies
No more sorrow
No more cries
No more deceit
No more sighs
No more hate
No more me.
I hate everything
And now I hate myself too
I hate my heart
The burning is long overdue
I close my eyes to picture a brand new start
Giving my heart away; piercing my soul
I wish my mind and body to part.
To find peace
To find me
To find the God that loved and created me
Only He who understands a crying soul
Maybe when he calls my name
then I’ll feel like gold.

I want movies of Ava Cherry with no clothes on, lounging softly &
luridly, pulling me with Afro curly-cues on a **** trimmed torridly

I love the structure and composition of a male’s body,
the hypnotic curves and angles, the sheer
symmetry filled with great rhythms and skills,
glowing geometry, their smooth toned shoulders
and beat bulging arms, their statuesque backs flexing
flawlessly, enthralling my heart, every sway
of their hips so amazingly appealing, sugar sweet
lips made for kissing, diamond shining eyes
like the stars hovering in the blackened blue sky.
The feel of their muscular magic hands,
so wonderfully ecstatic, passionate, a gust
of uncontrollable love intensifying, my heartbeat
sparked, sifting in the enchantment of hot
and naughty men.  There is so much paradise
and peace in their astonishingly rich physiques,
so much authenticity, creativity, dexterity,
and flexibility flowing through their veins,
swirling sea of delicious degrees, flavor fragrant
scents of all kinds drawing my rainbow soul
into their luridly lush oceans of sunshine poetry,
melodic muscles, beauteous bridges rising
and brightening like the thriving moonlight
in the nighttime bliss.  My soul lives
in the spectacular kingdom of thrillingly  
magnificent men, in the blossoming trails
of their grand glittering landscape, in the elegant
spaces of their celestial craft, colossal consonants,
masculine metaphors multiplied with stately
similes, totaling breathtaking dreams
and transcendence.  I want to explore
the world of golden glowing men, seep
in their hidden secrets, so deep within the
softest spots of their homeland, feeling
their sensual breath blowing on my sauna
flesh, their fluid fingers tiptoeing
upon my excited and wild chests
and shoulders, a chamber of dazzling
desire, a wealth of pleasurable chemistry
and energy in synchronicity.  I am dangerously
in heat, charmed by their vigorous vessels,
their delectable segments and infinite
derivatives, enhanced integrals, vibrant
velocity and opulence, tremendously fine men
dripping with razzle-dazzle, brick blasting *****,
superbly made, powerfully veined *****,
an endless mountain of possibilities,
a volcanic explosion of ecstasy mesh
with tantalizing vibrations, so hip and ripped,
a steaming engine of amplifying smoke
reaching high depths.  Tonight, I am lost
in the resplendence of men, how they hold
so much supremacy and independence,
inventiveness and munificence, the magic
magnifying in their abs, a creamy craving dream,
a mouthwatering galaxy, full of burning verbs
and poetic lines, dynasty stanzas, planetary
perfection, men of many nationalities, men
of many shapes, sizes, and height, a mind-blowing
museum of worldwide masterworks.

In my lone, apocryphal infancy I happened upon Mithra (including trivialities Mithraical) & lordly Jesus (plus trivialities Jesus Christical). I dreampt that together, in scope (& in character), we could complicate the complexities of complexes; we could complicatedly explore the complexes within complexities; within complications yet without complexions...Oh, I'm eating yogurt. Nothing fazes me, the stays & hanging delays. So, I'm eating yogurt. Nothing by phase fazes me, the stops, quick jerks & delays. For holy ****'s sacred sake I need to yell at decaffeinated coffee personnel during to-day's abbreviatedly-prolonged coffee break.
   I recall your nether hair as wavy, welcoming more sea men than the U.S. navy. ~  "Hi," I said to the man with the gun whose wife weighed one-fifth of a metric ton. She's rotten to the core grown from seed, just like my chihuahua after he's peed. I wiped you up below the wet spot for the fire chief as you're all he's got. Play it simple. Play it easy. Pay me by schedule fee Y or fee Z. I can't stop you, from wearing just 1 shoe. You're more dumb than you are stu-pid, as you'll wear a diaper for a week after you've pooped it. ~ "Take care," I cautioned the **** unaware as I ran a curling iron through his *******'s hair. With this neck brace I draw a fractured line good, as my pole is harder than a ship's bow line of pine wood that points 10 times straighter than ever mine could. ~ When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent, your ***-burns feel like no ***-burning accident. ~ Dear God, my ungodly losses have defeated my wins, because skinny-*** Jesus burned on the cross for our stinking sins. In the ring a boxer can lose his stuffin's, like run-aways lose to ****** pimps their tight clam, cherry-red muffins. I rest my love for flowing synovial fluid's fluidity on the shores of olympical trial lakes & amateur activity among destitute bums, hobos, tramps & humbugs as my partners in crime have forever been raunchy Tupac's queerly-tattooed thugs. My plea is no apology you unhooked, snaggle-toothed *****, because my *** is stairwell-inclined to market a luridly-commercial twitch. It's the jollity, mirth, hilarity, frivolity, merriment, good cheer & glee that turns my skin tone more jaundice than a Frisco China man's ***.

I want to get lost in your heatwave,
feel not so safe in your space as you
consume my breaths with your burning
brown lips.  I want your hands gripped
on my neck, gliding down my shoulders
and chest, your luridly long arms around me,
engulfing me in your reckless ride.
I relish your wholeness, the magical
places that you take me, the never-ending
oceans that I cross to enter your marvelous
resort, your spotless Courtyard by Mariot.
You make me want to go into overdrive
and feel you in between my thighs, listen to
your ****** moans as you plunge your chocolate
pipe in my wet chamber.  I long for your hot head
to caress in places that need some ****** healing
and loving, to feel you and be so susceptible,
sinking in your masculine empire, your frequency
rummaging through my realm, sparking
every vein in my babelicious body.

This book ain't worth a posy-scented candle, 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯'𝘴 84-𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵
𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘌𝘹-𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘈𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘍. 𝘙𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘭
I'll lovingly beat you like a hunter with a seal-beating stick lovingly
stick-beats a seal because, anywhere but Canada, lovingly beating a
fat-**** **** with a big, seal-beating stick ain't no Earth-ending deal
that could make Phil Collins, at gun-point, change his name to Bill,
eat waffles with a pine-wood bed slat or adopt a titter over a squeal
It was too late for sorrow, as her witch-*** was froze until tomorrow
I danced with your dad who doesn't dance bad for a *** dad in plaid
Once I'm buried in a hole, because I was so sick that I was declared
by a doctor dead, I'll never be alive to toast again your Cuban bread
You puked runny puke on my mom's T.V. 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘛𝘳𝘦𝘬 dishes, so now
we will have to live on your raft & **** in water like ******* fishes
do when they swish fish bones out of whack with bone-fish swishes
Here I am, hiding behind my Maserati during World War Two with
nobody violent around me; eating dead rabbits & taking things easy
Easy does it during World War Two when ***** & brassieres were
in short supply along with ice tongs, lip gloss & mink bikini thongs
I could've ate my pelvis-breaking weight in frogs & puppies, cuddle
fish & guppies. I could've loved you for your flat warts, like a 6-ton
elephant spurting in gray quarts. But you were so ecstatically crazy,
******* out on my pretty-boy face, that you had to cram it up with
everybody everyplace. Your buck-toothed **** dentist won't never
dentally-know how you pull apart stringy roots underneath, with 16
of your 22 black-rotted, misaligned teeth. I spiked your wine with a
harsh laxative to get you going more often, then I shot your **** &
crammed his rap-crapping *** into a 55-gallon-steel-oil-drum coffin.
“Jesus Christmastide! Why do ****** call you 'Stubby,' Stubby?” I
asked Stubby. He just sat there, clinically dead & grub-stiff grubby;
so I #22 scalpel-stripped him to make him less chubby, because gay
Stubby had visions of ******* an eye surgeon & calling him hubby.
Picture me 20 years ago, after the amputation of my toe. Picture me
20 years from now, married to a beef-cow. Picture, picture, picture,
then picture me pictured badly: with a crack-***** grinning madly.
**** who know know, by January you're ******* Iron Man noodles
through rear tubing & improving your high sight with a ladder-rung
eye-band & 2 days later you're dying of long cancer on Lung Island.
It was scary when the bottom fastened itself upward onto a lump &
when Jesus blessed Cebunese kids scavenging pagpag at the dump.
David René de Rothschild tethered 2 purple ***** to a dollar stump,
while Our Lord rescued Irish colleens chewin' garbage at the dump.
It is rumored that Bill & Hillary have shared ****** intimacies with
each other, that were interrupted 3 times by Roger, Bill's ½ brother.
***-******* like to wait 40 years before making insane, ******-****
accusations against all men who live in white-built African nations.
I was slurpin' yogurt & smashing white maggots in bare feet & hair
dryer-drying my blond hair in my windowless room, 3 floors above
my street on a Friday, 1 day after Walt Disney's gayest gay day yet,
before full rubbers broke through to make the sidewalks gooey wet,
to knock Mama off a donkey that had been her lifelong donkey-pet.
I hate bus trips! Oh, God! When will the God pain train trend end?!
As I grew to love her neighboring orifices & chocolate-milk glands,
Naomi Campbell smacked my white **** when I called her Bonnie,
with the same baloney handful behind what makes my nuts manful.
I don't care for the stiff-**** fluff & flare, or the slimy guff & glare,
of naked ***** gettin' axles lubed at the naked **** axle-lubing fair.
My syndicated business share differential queered the poor nusance
as it gave me a primer glued with solid gander ******* goose sense.
Prickling something is better than prickling nothing I suppose for a
bug-zapped minute that cuts a snail in a harpsichord or in a spinnet,
made by piano-tunin' ****-buddies in the Georgian city of Gwinnett.
You dumb, ***-******! I can't believe that you are more gay than 92
Rob Reiners, ***-******* 600 raunchy Biskra Province coal miners!
Rob Reiner ****** a pygmy during the holocaust when Polish Jews
felt lost & he walled in his father-in-law 'cause dad was pygmy-tall.
Coal moaners surrounded me like a rash. I fought them with bullets
& bull ***** after I ran out of cream cheese, Kotex & blue crayons,  
in hopes that 1 day, I might skip barefoot again through grey lawns.
A quick look-see at any cemetery puts things into perspective, dead
& deceased, no hens riding *****, no soccer, no mismatched socks.
You removed your cold lips from mine in the coal mine making me
mad, so I took off my wedding dress to make a baby with your dad.
I was paralytic with fear when your **** came near, as I was out of
chicken feed; so I slit open my ulnar artery & quickly bled to death.
I answered your pathetical moan for help, like a collie ***** in mid-
moan whelp. My dog's a godless pagan like you too & she wants to
drink from the toilet like any pagan guy; but she's a chihuahua dog
so, unless she is fed wolf hormones, she'll not rise toilet-bowl high.
Elton John offered lots of **** attention if, when regardin' his ****
as he's porking park cops, I'll not ever jam a big monkey wrench in.
Elton John proffered love & attention if, in regards to his **** when
buggering Central Park cops, I will never ram a steel park bench in.
I was eating pig-kidney with a **** Vietnamese woman in a shed &
she asked to split my kidney & I jumped 'cause she wasn't well-fed.
I was puking oily French Canadian porcine kidney gristle onto your
Michigan-made robe of silk, as I lactated luke-warm pig buttermilk.
I barfed slimy French Haitian ****** brain stem treats onto your 34
devilish Voodoo ******* of silk, to make you lactate spicy pig milk.
A mean-spirited queer attacked me, when I was not looking queerly
around for bad queers. Lord Princely Jesus, these preter-neo pseudo
ultra modernistical queer times are upon us to ***-******' seize us.
Oprah's teats were bound to her chest by mucho ****** rings, which
made her want to use a milk-goat's milking-machine for **** flings
when she was alone ****-******' ****** & ***-porking ding-a-lings
I sermonize & preachify, as of late, against ***-*** at the going rate
for hooded rods trimmed to helmets, as circular cuts are a boy's fate
Like walnuts crackin' at dawn between the lumpy thighs of ******,
I pop plasma-filled blisters to render them into itchy, fiery-red sores
Because ******* riot after lines are drawn, I hide 2 pink scrotal nuts
to save them from ablation, because when they're gone they're gone
& devoid of vitally-vibrant, dual-testicular sensation by stimulation
In the world of Yip Harburg, everyone must die, you know it's true,
like a wasted ****** who's turned blue, all-the-way speared through
I want movies of Ava Cherry with no clothes on, lounging softly &
luridly, pulling me with Afro curly-cues on a **** trimmed torridly
as cool chick Sita Chan flies over a Hong Kong bridge discordantly
I trace your Nordic-loving *** sidewise across Conneaut Lake when
I'm 3% sober, from January the twenty-third to the ninth of October
Across the vast expanse of your ever-widening *** I mark my space
to keep my place before the next ship arrives from Pluto moon base
When peace is declared, my mistress will put away her war nuggets
for good, because as she aches for a half foot of timber I will slip to
her my thrill-hammering, impregnating, baby-broth-squirting wood.
See my Mongol eyes? See how far apart they are? The preterhuman
distance 'tween them has kept me from being smashed flat by a car.
When I was tiny small I'd scream brattily as a bratty tot, “Mommy I
want to watch 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘯 𝘋𝘺𝘬𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘸 with old Hose Prairie a lot
whilst me & the hot baby sitter **** on a cot & **** Mexicali ***!”
**** chick laboratorians, working for the forensics lab, use ****-kit
combs on their red bushes when public **** outrage pulls & pushes
You'll be alright, no doubt, after you have twin infants to straighten
your *** out. We'll have fun with white vitamin D from Earth's sun,
while I  twist your hair into a fashionable bun, 'cause you got a gun,
& you say that you will shoot me 9 times once your bun is all done.
“Who's it?” Asked a cook cookin' corn pone, to which I bemoaned,
“It is a phone call from a chickee who combs her ***** hair alone.”
A guy can count, when he runs, on his biggest right-foot toe, just as I counted on you camper-crammer Breanna, 15 little boyfriends ago
when you chirped like a meadow crow in an '05 red Dodge Shadow  
before folding 2 **** lips over in a corporate, ****-lip-folding show
for bread, dinero, gelt, mula, cash & seventy other words for dough
On the porch I was wildly horrified from this haunted-house fear as
Grandma struck me with cheer over her **** so sharp & **** so near
to my rock-hard-pronghorn projectile & manly, wedding-tackle gear
“At the bottom of the finest menu is offered wren mignon, captain”
a crew man proffered, before his wife got pimped by Peter Lawford
A million dead love-birds littered my dream-life & dream- girlfriend
after I epoxied her pate beyond the apex of the fore-crown's top end
Last month we ate turkeys from pointy beaks to wrinkly **** holes
while our wife crones were fingered like ****** Mao finger bowls
Breanna, I fear you, to be near you and to hear you when you boil a
chicken in the kitchen, when you turn on me with merciless *******'
to precipitate the most tremorous of Parkinsonian, lard-*** twitchin'
Breanna, I fear you, to hear you near you when you boil a wren like
a California chicken kitchen cook who sews ***** by hem-stitchin'
in dawning hours when plane Earth's keen on night-to-day switchin'
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
upon a Battle Creek holt in the snotted knot of a carpet bomb round
that'd blow the shell off a turtle & a goose off its soft, goose mound
into a better diet whereat gay waivers are paced to England's pound
I'm forced to live in the woods & eat moles 'cause I really do love it
and I'd never ***** that I am too royal toward it, or very far above it
or *****-***** to ream & **** it, even when I'm 768 miles from it
Unlike you, with your greyish bumps, I ain't scarfed corn dogs with
stinkin' garbage men, in garbage trucks, speeding to garbage dumps
My ditzy ***** went crazy from a street drug so, like they did with
father Grigorii Rasputin, I shot her twice, then wrapped her in a rug
While I'm swingin' an ax in an abortuary to unsettle my calm bones
I find quiet consolation listening to near-dead, half-deaf Tom Jones
who dreams of Earth minus lesbians grooming dads as mom clones
Sharing my lunch with an out-of-work ****** makes me feel larger,
just like after my big ****'s been slammed in the jamb of a car door
The snow Christened Christ, freezing hot after-birth iced. His Mum
was a ****** who had babies, while Daddy bit a dog that had rabies.
Hey you *******, I am ***-high in the Jakarta Turbine project
so I got no time for them or Lloyd Bridges & his hemorrhoid ridges
as my tick-bit chihuahua'd sooner *** on what is left of Bruno Leon
With dour Vince Edwards it was a horror to power-rinse head warts
I inhale the stench of birds being cared for in the privacy of a closet
where fruits ripen after paying a homosexual closet security deposit
In the future all good people will act like Donny Osmond a little bit
when they're comfortably seated on a heated toilet seat taking a ****
The ****** nurse in fancy nurse uniform, through which I saw ****
fur, led me to the hospital bed so that I could have my way with her
like the fakes who were John Forsythe, Sam Jaffe & Raymond Burr
could, if they had not died as rabid dogs like Allāh said they should
as the eternal souls of those who are bad shall be shredded for good
“Listen Missy,” I said, “I could spend many nights ******* you raw
or brushin' my curly **** bush on my million-dollar yacht instead!”
My thumb's numb where a dog bit me, just after I ****** his *****
in Satan's kitschy church for a mass that was less camp than witchy
among Hillary's ****-suckin' pigs who're no less shaky than twitchy
It's Kung Fu in reverse, the adoration & the adulation that paces me
across sad, fairy-land meadows where I chase fairies of race fantasy
Pry wide your gob, goofy goober, wolfin' waffles in the men's room
ain't never got 1 ****** locked up for gay pimping, we can presume
A clock's ticking *****, like a sticking stitch stuck in a witch-*** snit
on the bald nog of a drained chimp **** from the massacre at Tikrit
Green rhymes with spleen & a spleen that has gone green is seen as
being badly corrupted by a putrefyingly-deadly, infarcting gangrene
Suicidal tribes, I think who link upon the brink must not, of course,
drink pink ink from a sink as it could push bowel twist knot & kink
I was haunted by wraiths, sprites, leprechauns & hobgoblins till ***
Mark D. Chapman cured x-singer John Lennon's medical problems.
Beause who, minus spinal pain, might for sure say that ****** bare- backing made the normally heterosexual, rough & tumble Ben gay?
Ben is gaily bathing done with Obama at bath houses for **** fun.
Don't you remember that when we were in love we'd hide at Burger
King and secretly eat out each other's burgers until late September?
When we were in love (Don't you remember?) we'd meet at Burger
King to secretly eat out each other's fur burgers till mid-November?
For ****'s sake I shall **** with coffee sippers during coffee breaks
on schooners & rafts crossin' the greatest of America's Great Lakes.
I **** early in the morning to avoid the pre-afternoon ***** & shakes
I **** in the early morning to avoid the pre-afternoon ***** & shakes
In the early morning I ****, avoiding runny afternoon ***** & shakes
I evacuate pre-breakfast to obstruct copious supper squirts & quakes
I pathologize fetid droppings to classify scatological frauds & fakes
I could hurl ***** on cue in the sight of jail-house grits & pancakes
I may sail west within the under-belly pits of poly-finned sea snakes
that slither hither, thither & yon up, if not over, deadly rays & rakes
in pre-gutted conditions, before they are trucked by drays from bays
on sunny days when fillets are flayed; when pay-grades induce gays
who Walmart pays in minimal ways that x-Sam said was a pay-raise
lifted by the Chinese Patriotic Catholic Association, & Mao's praise
that launched the Cultural Revolution's ****-everyone-you-can craze
to the tune of Chou En-lai's burn-*******-Tibet-to-the-ground phase
which obeys the policy of crushing prisoners' faces with lunch-trays
which adores the practice of caving in faces with prison lunch-trays
I'm eating yogurt, nothing fazes me: 11 stays & electric-chair delays
that outstrip the switch poles of Western Electric's antiquated relays
that strip the switching poles of Western Electric's antiquated relays
that strip the switched poles of General Electric's negative tree days
that play General Electric's plane, pointed up over negated key bays
to soil Edison's electrical datum line, croacked west where fur frays
in gay burnt victim pink fashion where blistered, skinned skin flays
sons wallow in pig sties where godly cleanliness forever never pays
while men swallow grizzly plies; where the *** of King Jesus brays
to bluff, brag & boast not; to blow up the pretense of pitiable praise
in the firmament beyond whereat the water may no higher be raised
above the bosoms of fairy maidens, whose fealty amazed Our Lord,
says the holy Hebrew Testament; affirms high-oxygen giants crazed
In infancy I happened upon Mithra, including trivialities Mithraical
& later, with Jesus, new Biblical nuances of Prince Jesus Christical
Michael Jackson's paederastical dancing made Brillo-headed Tito a
badder dancer as it acidified Hindu Vinod Khanna's bladder cancer
Here on 2 limbs hobbles a 110-year-old pervert, Kirk Douglas, who
fugged fugging Marilyn Monroe fugless like 1 Aussie **** Kug lass