Undefeated. Undisputed. 12 wins, 0 losses. A perfect 12-0 record.  
You’re the crowd’s favorite as Vegas odds are in your favor.
Through the years of being in this game, you can almost get used to the fame.
“This fight’s going to be an easy one” – you assured your Coach.
You enter the octagon and see her warming up. Then you hear Bruce Buffer laying out the ground rules.
You’re excited – but nervous.
You feel the pressure of having to live up to everyone’s expectations. From your coach to the little ******* the other side of the world rooting for you.
You thought it was going to be another landslide victory.

Barely 2 minutes in and you feel scared.
Suddenly, you feel a numbing pain on your chin. It was a left hook.
As you fall face first, you feel nothing. Your unconscious body lays flat on the octagon floor.
Lights out.

Moments later you wake up to the sound of the fans cheering in the octagon.
A left hook was all it took for your dream of retiring undefeated to come crashing down.
For the first time, it wasn’t your arm that was raised by Herb Dean.
For the first time, you heard the words, “….and the new Featherweight champion”
You don't let it sink in at first but you can only hold back for too long before you realize that you lost.
You stood up, wiped the sweat off of your forehead, removed your gloves and marched out.
Suddenly you feel this weird feeling of embarrassment.
"So this is how it feels to lose?" you said to yourself.

You found a chair, sat down and composed yourself.
You’re still in one piece, which is a good thing but you know that fact cannot compensate for the emotional disorientation you felt.
Broken bones really do heal faster than injured egos.
Maybe your loss was a way of knocking some sense into you.
Winning is not everything, the same way that losing is not.
Sometimes you need to experience defeat in order to appreciate how satisfying every victory is.
As a fan, I know it's going to be hard to bounce back from this loss.
But you're going to be okay, champ. You always do.

A morgue is an unhappy place regardless of time or place.
The somber few that haunt the halls often project the surroundings dreadfully.
While walking the gray tiled rooms it’s known too that we shall one day wear the toe tag.
But mortality gives way to reality and jobs are done with quiet respect for passed souls.

And then there’s the Juarez Morgue...
A hot July day and a drive through Mexican customs brought a meeting with police officials.
A body in their possession, they thought, would bring transportation home.
Calloused officials with shiny gold 45’s aglow, spoke rhythmic Spanish in their police code.

A “******,” said one and this should be fun a ride with those looking more like hit men.
A car loaded with “Madrinas,” in tow and AR 15’s laid in seats in a row.
How odd thought he in a land purportedly free and fright on passerby faces.
Cocky bravado speaking radio slang,
did drive towards the Juarez morgue.

A couple miles out a turn in and out did place them in a neighborhood quiet.
But a familiar smell in a nose did swell, and wonder of how that could be valid.
Putrefaction it was, the odor rose above as the children played gleefully nearby.
How could it be when he could not see the edifice emitting the smell?

A small octagon building, small air conditioners in four windows.
Could it be that this was the morgue?
The desert sun bright and heat overbearing.
My God this is a place of death among many living, what a fright!

The escorts did enter, the detective slowly met the front door.
He was quite pensive when sliding from light to the dark.
His eyes gone black his vision insufficient, as he started to be able to see.
A wet sounding step and a curious glance, did place his feet in crimson water.

Disbelief as the room came into focus, he saw well the visions of what belong in hell.
Bags of bones stacked they were, a femur and skull, the fully decomposed welcomed.
Four porcelain tables and bodies disabled lay upon with nary a stare.
Just shortly behind bodies piled feet high forget a tray or a gurney.

Overcome by it all he began to stall, and try to gather his thoughts.
Rank smell in his nose sent him scrambling for his cigar.
The smoke unable to cover what he did discover, his heart fell hard to his knees.

How inhuman it was to see rampant disregard for the dead.
No scalpels used to cut the Y,
a kitchen knife he could cry.
Sewed up a corpse, with rough twine of course, he regretted where he did stand.
His spine became metal his mind did reel and a new wrinkle appeared on his brow.

On some summer nights when heat fills the air, he does look up to the moon.
His mind travels back to the withering stacks, and the odor still gathers in his nose.
The years have passed by and he doesn’t know why, the memories will not fade.
Restless sleep, fallen heart, many more new wrinkles have taken there place.

A war there has broken out,
and factions viciously ****.
He can’t help but wonder what has happened in Juarez.
The tractors and the bodies they plow.
No building this time a long ditch in the ground scores of people pushed into a long trench.

He walks each day with what he has seen, which cannot be unseen.
Wrestling with himself in the bed, and covering his head.
The dead they do come to visit still.
The Morgue in Juarez left it’s print in the mind of a young fellow.

Indulge the last line if you have some spare time.  Dios bendiga los muertos de Juarez.

Two men square up
in an octagon
they circle each other
they try angles
to find the wrecked angle
to reach the top of the pyramid
for a diamond reward
to make life on this sphere bearable
because deep down in our dome we know
we preach the Holy Triangle
but ignore the lessons of the cross
hope takes the shape of its negative container
which is half empty so we’re always divided by two
the octagon mentality is reflected in the Pentagon
people fill rectangular plots in the ground
while others profit from manufacturing projectile cylinders
hiding behind stars and stripes
while we fight one another with dollar signs
in the eyes ovals stream from
we see the trapezoid we’ve built for ourselves
where our circular lives take the shape of a fist.

We eat in the restaurants
Eat in the bars
By the bistros
Against the street or on the ground
It does not matter where we are found
As we eat like we are dancing
With no one around
Who could possibly be watching?

Inside your own home
A house of a lone star
Impossibly pondering
How the pauper used wood
And turned it into cooking.

Food can be shared for
A life once cared for
Kept to yourself
Perhaps you beg not to share it
An octagon plate and octagon jades
Caramel vinegar rain
Tossing and turning with lightning veins.

The street is full of the nights left-overs
We sit under the dead orange glow
I take a glance at your face, scared
Its twisted look of
Confusion
Sadness
Exhaustion
makes my body twist itself
Until I have shrunken so tiny
I could sit upon the pin
that I just stuck into your chest
My pocket gives three sharp beeps

Are you coming?

Your not stupid
Your face tells me that

I'm not going to do this again

You say, pained
as you pull out the pin
I take your hand and hold it tight
Our skin blends together, but i want it too
I
Love
You
and no one else
despite tonight's activities
We rise from the cold
Shake the glow off our shoulders
And watch as the sweeper takes away the streets mess

Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.

I was happy then, because there were eight.
I was happy because it smelt like ash and ukuleles;
rushing water that could very
very well break my neck.

I smiled and you smiled back
blinded by a flash of everything,
anything that happened in Decembers and Februaries
and the warm air, lying thick on the back of your neck
melted that flash clean until all I saw -
all any of us saw -
were blinking images of ourselves.
caught unaware and griping but also so very happy.

It smelt like summer, like tires speeding up, up
higher and higher until we crashed into the sky and fell down,
cratering holes as acid rain.

Should lanterns shine, the holy face,
Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light,
Would wither up, an any boy of love
Look twice before he fell from grace.
The features in their private dark
Are formed of flesh, but let the false day come
And from her lips the faded pigments fall,
The mummy cloths expose an ancient breast.

I have been told to reason by the heart,
But heart, like head, leads helplessly;
I have been told to reason by the pulse,
And, when it quickens, alter the actions' pace
Till field and roof lie level and the same
So fast I move defying time, the quiet gentleman
Whose beard wags in Egyptian wind.

I have heard may years of telling,
And many years should see some change.

The ball I threw while playing in the park
Has not yet reached the ground.

an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.

All they wanna do is use and make use of you,
they construct the concrete of high rise to
fill full of lies, so
when your eyes meet
the rush of the street  and
jump,
take the leap
the
pounding stops.

The suicide shops,
open all day
go in with a smile and
come out with dismay.

There are six sides beside me
two sides that ride me
not one of them hide me
I died
yesterday.

Hey there old friend
let's startover again
Things have been said
Things have been read
I know I've said I hate you
That was a bad thing to do
And I know you don't care
so like...
Whatever right

We both believed the others lies
Neither one was originally untrue
I don't know cause I'm not you
But... did your heart break too

Ohh-oh-ohh I don't know
I don't care
I just don't know what to do
I really want to forgive you
But I don't want to leave the past behind
What the hell, what the hell
is wrong with me
Cause I know you see it
Or maybe you don't
I don't know
But I really hope you won't
Find out why
I...
I can't seem to make up my mind

Can't help but tell the truth
I can't decide how to feel about you
Just like an angel I've fallen from grace
but the lies that we told are just all over the place
What the hell, yeah what the hell
Why did you follow me when I fell
Now what the hell is wrong with me
I still don't know so just let me be alone
But I still want you here
So just go away
I can't make up my mind
Please I want you to stay

I want to forget what you look like
Let me take your picture so I'll never forget your face
I can't stand your voice now
Can you record a song for me
I'll never know where we went wrong
But the memory of it is still fresh in my brain
I hate that you lied
But I love how you told the truth
You messed with me and can't forgive that
But I can forgive you
Except I don't
and yet I really do
I can't tell you how much I hate you
but maybe that's because I don't
So please get out of my life
And promise to talk to me everyday
Don't I know
how do I feel
feel how I do
I
Don't
Know
Unless I...
Dog Ostrich Nutcracker Turtle Radical Elephant Antelope Lion Lemonade Yak Western Asp Nocturnal Tick Tock Old Frog Octagon Rail Glitch Everywhere Totally Article Bonfire Ogre Utter Tech Yodel Obtuse Umbra Yea Ectoplasm Tome

a butterfly-garden on a hill
behind the wall
of
your par-need




who fills the tank
                                 and pays the bills?
                                                          ­         it's not ur car..

who rots away in a meeting
                                  while trailing mind-tunnels out
                                                             ­           doodles to escape tedium..

who feels despair on the shoulder
                                  and tries to **** it up
                                                              ­         while hearing the ocean's call..

who sees the stark-brilliance
                                      right before unbelievably blind-eyes
                                                      ­                  casting pearls before swine..


hey..
*******, man!




we see only what we want to see
why can nobody see
the rare butterflies
right here
in our midst?*


S T - 10 octagon 2013

All roads lead to a stop sign.

What’s sleep for you?
A warm tender embrace with arms held wide? Or a octagon where winner is the one who vanquishes the other?

The Land of Itmon


Nobody ever promised me
A patch of lilacs in the wintertime and
Pink clouds never truly rained
A river of tears-
I only promised myself the land of Itmon-
Something akin to a goddess or a saint
I would sit at the right hand of the holy octagon-
Fervently praying for my inner world to come alive-
Locked inside the chambers of madness and
Locked inside the confinement of my bedroom
For days my head would be lost in those pink clouds,
Even sometimes while they were raining
A fine mist of gold upon and before me-
My bed had become the ferryboat guiding me through the bleakness of
My sordid nightmares to
This mesmerizing world deemed as Itmon-
I am alive inside this far away place, though
Truly not so far away-
The voices inside of my mind, commanding-
Giving me orders day in and day out-
My closest companions whose orders
I feel inclined to obey-
Running far away from the voices of my past where
The planet earth has not been kind-
The land of Itmon is none but paradise-
Here I have come to know Kyt, my guiding light
Donning flaxen hair and eyes of
Cyanotic blue-
Hypnotizing me with her glance and
Charming me with her smile-
Taking me by the hand and leading me into
The magical land of Itmon-
This place where nobody feels despair and where
We lose ourselves within our dreams-
Pink clouds turning lavender at night fall-
Snow never falls in this land of my fantasies-
Fantasies have so abruptly transformed to reality-
Hand in hand Kyt and I have abandoned the demons of
Our squalid pasts and we have entered this fairytale place of our
Wildest dreams to remain forever bonded-
Nobody ever promised me inner peace-
Nobody ever sang to me the song of a nightingale-
As an inhabitant of this planet I was so rudely born in
Nobody ever understood or comprehended-
So I mounted my proud unicorn and fled into the sunrise-
Dismounting when I reached that path
Paved before me-
That path paved in platinum, which by nature guided me
Into the magnificent land of Itmon-
I see mountains of many colors-
Before whirlpools of waters of deep cobalt blue-
I stand stalwart besides tall reeds, viridian hued-
I am very much alive in this unique place of my dreams which
Has rapidly become my only reality-
Sing with me, Kyt, the song of a nightingale- for
I hear faint words of alien people saying that
I have lost my sanity and am in a wretched state-
I have never been a happier person alive-
I have lost myself inside the world of my dreams forever-
My dreams are reality and yesterday’s reality has vanished and
Looking into those eyes of Kyt’s-
Compelling and hypnotic as in my fondest dreams-
Eyes of cerulean blue truly spellbinding as are as always
The voices inside my mind commanding-
I have a home that only I can envision-
I sit on the right side of the holy octagon and
Thank the Goddess that rules this fine land for
Making my dreams come alive,
My fantasies are my only true reality now, as I
Walk that pathway paved in platinum before me
Into lavender skies and whirlpools of my destiny,
Abandoning my past forever-
Only to see ahead and to look forward
Without looking behind me and
Without ever turning back…


Claudia Krizay

One Mississippi two Mississippi three Mississippi four Mississippi five Mississippi six Mississippi seven Mississippi eight Mississippi nine Mississippi ten
She looks at the wall and laughs there's nothing there, and I wonder what's so funny as I lean against the wall with my hands folded in front of me trying to stay calm counting one Mississippi two Mississippi she continues to walk around the octagon starring at her feet with wide eyes as they land on the outer edge where carpet meets fake wood floors. The nurse is patiently waiting so am I my heart is racing I'm scared very scared but not this patient she seemed happy but the kind of happy that you know isn't right.
Her grin is big her blown eyes are so wide and empty she has pasted me 11 times before she stops to ask
"Why are you here did you try to **** yourself too?"

I. Café
the waiter has the kindest eyes
when he goes home after his shift he probably finds coffee beans tucked into his pockets
the whirring of the machine doesn't faze him as it did when he first started
he has become accustomed to the grooves of wood and the abstract art above the bar
he glances at the clock every hour on the hour, counting down the minutes until he is released
catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror is a reminder he exists
every time I see myself in it, my eyes disappear from reflection
I wish I spoke Portuguese – these tourists behind me make me embarrassed to be English:
man, loudly: She wants ORANGE JUICE!
waiter nods – such patience
for a moment I think of what it would be like to go downstairs to the restaurant
past the mahogany wood and chessboard floor
and **** on one of the tables
the next patrons would have no idea they were eating off of passion and stunted breath
“Enjoy: homesickness tossed with overwhelming contentment and a dressing of lust.”
I could drink every bottle of Campari, Bacardi and Jameson lining the wall and I still wouldn't have the courage to tell him how kind I think his eyes are
I really want him to drape me over the golden chandelier so I can be reminded of what it feels like to have an all-seeing eye
he has such routine with the way he places sugar packets on plates and lays them down for sleep-deprived and cranky patrons
maybe I should've ordered something
we should have an object at each corner of the octagon table – a spell, a hex
I need to be fed pastries to continue breathing
I would like for him to walk me home
it's just around the corner and I know its name and number are marked on the street but I have a terrible sense of direction
one false turn and I may end up in the water
and I won't ever see the waiter’s kind eyes again.

II. Ruins
if you held me the way you held that camera I'd melt into an exalted sigh
you told me you only take pictures of things you love but you never took any of me
I mean, I know the height and decomposition of this building is breathtaking but I could give you some air if you kissed me by the rusted trellis
your orange sunglasses look ridiculous
I would rather drape you in a cloak, like the Statue of St. John Nepomucene
two bells, like us, drone
as you speak, the sound of the Chinese couple is louder:
“We should go into this room… filled with artefacts…”
“No, here, let's stay…”
******* for saying you're leaving.
I have the urge to pound you with one of those rocks on a ledge so you are trapped here
“Can you imagine this place filled with people?”
you wouldn't belong anyway
you have no affinity for red tiles scattered amongst grey
or the all-encompassing silence of the venue
there is a concrete slab on the left where I could lay you down and take off those glasses
and pour myself into you
so you would take pictures of me
so you wouldn't move to New York
I can't fathom people filling this place
because it should really house two souls instead.

III. Mirador
the number on the floor by the fountain is the amount of times I've said no to you while standing out here
I'll tag another 0 on, just to be safe
the red roofs look like my skin after I've sat all day at the beach at Sperlonga
you almost drowned
your footsteps on the gravel are ominous and even when I look through the telescope I can't see you
I pick a point on the horizon – the blue cubist building; the odd one out – and stare blankly
that guitarist playing “Oh Darling” reminds me of the first time you called me that and I want to smash it so violently
I find myself staring at the trio of scruffy young bearded men instead of you
“What are you saying?! It was at least this big…” one of them says.
he looks like you but the you before you moved to New York
you lean on the upside down heart iron fence and say for the 15th time that you still love me
I'm pushing you over the fence now onto the path below
the garden will still look lovely after you fall
instead I pick another building – pink with white windows and a black roof – and stare
it blinks its eyes and speaks: “Leave.”
you're in the middle of saying how much you loved the fish last night and I break:
“I'm gone.”

The Forceps on the Skull
The Freedom Down my Throat
The Careless Jaunty Attitude
The Dead boy long Gone
No voice, No mouth, No brain
No Opinion, No Choice, No Thought
The child coaxed in rudiments
The warm fuzz ball of puke
The play-doe reindeer bones
The bandaged up wild wet wagon movie
Throaty
Toe drum octagon
Therapy Slowly
Octopus keymaker
Uh, you don't know me
Grow old in set bone brains
Can't hold a lighter to a memory of a conversation flicker
Septum dust headbutts tattoos of a mirror
**** shiver
What's His Name?
What's His Name?
Slidin’ care home cider casket cycles home
Nun **** jar finds a hair in comb
Hold a Jug up to your speakin’ ear and drink
Run circles round the square
Run circles round the square
Why don't you just do it?
Why don't you just?

"Word is bond."  I never did understand what those vocabulary-slinging,  Rhyme-linking,  Rhythm-carrying,  Boast-blasting  And world-observing wordsmiths spoke of when they said:  "Word is bond."  I did not know those words, just like all the times I did not know what  The Octagon,  The Staple-Lands,  Or even such a word as "Paris" meant in their fascinating lingo.  I tried again and again to decode them,  To recognize them,  To comprehend them,  In hopes of seeing deep wisdom within them.  "Word is bond"?  What can words tie together,  Being nothing but blac

The summer sun rose at 3 am. By then we had already hightailed out of Stockholm, en route south. The purple horizon slowly lifted the veil of darkness and the motion of the van returned to its former realm of concrete movement as we rocked along the long continental avenue. The sun gleamed through open windows onto my arms and legs, making the hairs on my neck stand at attention and awe of white light fissioning into a nebula of vivid color in motion, occupying the entirety of my vision. It was as if, for a brief moment, I had forgotten past failures and obstacles. Was it because of some arbitrary sense of perseverance and skill, or was it a mere karmic turn? Who could tell(?) The radio crackles and fades just before I turn it off. Heller leans forward to tamper with the switches on the radio to find a station. I slapped his hand in spite and I don’t know why it did it. Heller laughs it off and continued to make fun of South-state Americans and juggalos.
- “‘The juggalos made me the ******* I am today,’ ya, that’s pretty evident, you fat drugged up loser. You should should go **** your sister’s purdy mouth,” Mackay laughs wholeheartedly. Andrew leans forward and puts a hand on my shoulder.
- “Hey, man. Are you alright? You look a tad pale.” Andrew shifts his facade to slight sarcasm, like he always would to veil his genuine care.
- “Yeah, I’m fine. Haven’t really eaten anything, and the coffee is wearing off.”
- “Do you wanna put something on the tape-deck? Let’s pick one you’re familiar with, so that you can sing along to keep your head up. These slobs won’t be helping you, trust me. They’ll be sleeping in good conscience in a few minutes.”
- “Yeah, cat, that’s not such a bad idea. Put on some Jason Molina. It’s not exactly upbeat, but I know every ****** depressed word.”
I hum and sing along with Emilio, Devin and Mackay as the rest slept away the sorrows of folly and deprivation. We had finally made our way out of Sweden, crossing the immense Oresund Bridge, towering over us with cables running up and down, thicker than our waists. The fog lay over Copenhagen Bay, as the sun peeks over it like Kilroy writing his mark on the horizon wall. 8 kilometers across, connecting the fragmented Scandinavian continent, suspended 60 meters above the malicious Skagen Sea, writhing, twisting and smashing away in the stiff morning wind. Walk along the suspension on a wire, not caring either way if you fall or remain in your shoes. We had already leapt away from the strange comfort of our apartments, shrouded in exhaust, hardship and simplicity of mind, to get a feel of the real world, a world that robs you at knife point, stabs you and leaves you to bleed away in beautiful chrysalis alleys, with the stars glinting away in your vidi, not able to care one bit. Leaving the pots and pans ***** in the sink at home, leaving late night parties, static beds, self consumption, bitterness and white knuckles, we found ourselves on a frontier. A lackluster frontier by ancient standards, but complacency being the dominant dogma of modern day life, a frontier nonetheless. We are the riders of high waves, and rogues on the dusty trails, for thousands of miles, until time suspends itself, and we lose grip. We may not have revolvers or boats, but our van is our weapon. And we are going to use it. The bridge descends into the flatlands of Denmark, where the highest point is a lump of lawn and the people are friendly and clever. A few friends of ours had told us tour stories from bands that were, about a concert being held in a glass octagon cube in the middle of a desolate plain, and the place was packed with young sophistos and the remaining cultural aristocracy of Denmark. Too bad we ain’t stoppin’.
The carnival in my head pushes into high gear with song and magic marker signs, spinning around in circles through streets filled with people screaming at the top of their lungs. I listen to the mechanism churning away, greased by coffee, in the scorching noon Apollonian torture.

And when the time dwindles,
and that same body stumbles,
your world all around you
may not or may crumble.

A love-keeper's journal,
written with lust
is not a love journal at all,
bound by false trust.

But no trust
doesn't mean lies.
Maybe misunderstanding
or a misread eye.

Birthed into routine
and taught by repetition.
Opened up hearts
with new intuition.

Raised in a world
where everything is expected,
and anything different
is highly disrespected.

How much is enough?
Whether gentle or rough,
when your time is spent
and you're done being tough.

Who will spend your time?
Whether negative or right,
in the future or past,
it will be in your sight.

But can one ever-changing soul
just settle down?
Does one choose a favorite song,
and ignore all other sounds?

You may never be different,
but may never be the same,
and to find one person
with one certain name,

Would you be content,
never turn away?
Is it so wrong to wonder?
We swing and we sway.

From one love to another,
from hours to days,
I linger indifferent,
to so many things.

Love is love is love,
and we share it aloft.
Is three such a crowd,
in a bed that's so soft?

From partner to parody,
repeat, and repeat,
we go from one to another,
retreat, and retreat.

Back to square one,
alone all along,
but in the months to come,
love like a song.

Some are sick of duets,
and some like to stand alone,
and some like to see many,
and some like to see clones.

A triangle of fun,
an octagon of plays;
A partnership hole,
with so many days.

You lust what you must,
and you think what you might.
You go with your trust,
and you follow your light.

A variety of comfort,
spread across the globe,
with people being human
and that's how it goes.

Some have no idea,
and live inside the box.
Some see the sticky tape
but would rather see not.

Here we are, a new match
Going head to head
New opponent
Same arena
Fists long gone
The bruises stay
Knocked down in the second round
Sucker punched
Testing combos
Left hooked
In the chest
Oxygen deprived
Land another hit
Create the only stars I see
Men, they fall
Make contact
With the mat, maybe
Wrap my hands
And this story
Let's see how long I last

I thought about a wave crashing up instead of down
A tank-top wedding
A beach filled with more sand than water
A star that looked like an octagon
And a lollipop shaped like a square
Can there be a universe like that somewhere?

Setting sail upon the sea
An octagon, a fantasy
Earth to port, the stars to lee
I compass universes by degrees
Constellations make their breeze
In the passage I am seized
Within nebulae I freeze
It's so large and I so wee
And thus it is

by God's decree


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/24/2016

Green strips upon copper coloured chimneys.

Slushy puddles refill as the single line traffic churns up choke inducing fumes.

Frilly octagon honey comb with their black on polka dot polyester.

Grey meets black amongst hustle and bustle broken by car toot and shoe shuffle.

Pavement lights shape shift as rumble follows rumble.

Green strips upon copper coloured chimneys.

And on that cold day I saw a rainbow lit by artificial light
inside a ******* box that was more of an octagon then a rectangle
a little cherubim in suspenders drooled all over the color
his spit turned to cement and the colors were stuck in an overlapping pile
I couldn't figure out what it meant as I pressed my head against the cold car window
the only thing I knew was that I was not feeling anything at all
words escaped my trap door
but they would only resignate when someone would react to them
I found the answer  on the return ride home
after a night of sloppily shuffling through a room
where faces melted because of how hard they work
it was a waning crescent smiling back at me in it's mysterious way
I was once again in a ******* box
one with four sides this time
"I would tell you the answer, but I don't know anything"
that's just it then
there is no answer inside these ******* box frames
but there are colors
boy, are there colors

we all have faith in stop signs,
with their red skin
glaring out of the monotony.

knowing,
hoping,
willing the car to stop
at the command of the silent
octagon.

i want this to stop

The shape of the sun; circle
The shape of a city block, square
The shape of a baseball field, rhombus
The shape of a house, pentagon.

But the shape of a home
Is based on what lives inside.

A pyramid proves a simple structure can still succeed
All lines involved
Connect to complete a common goal.

An octagon interludes
So all sides can solidify
A promising whole.

So what is to happen
To a house with
No shape?

When the lines are misconstrued
And the corners are mismatched.
A splatter on a plane
Lacking effort to be real.

A shape is not a shape
If there are breaks within the lines.

A shape is not a shape
If everyone neglects the vertices.

Geometry should have been priority
while planning a family.

I've been to so many places
Seen so many faces
I don't know what to do
I don't know who to choose
Im in a love octagon
So many to choose from
They're all so great and wonderful

I noticed you
Noticing me
It was something that I couldn't believe
cause how could a girl like you
Fall for a guy like me
its a mystery
Not really cause we fell and love took over

Every time I see you
My heart skips a beat
I have to catch my breath
To stay on my feet
Every time we lock eyes
It melts my insides
Cause baby Im mesmerized

You're so gorgeous, you're so beautiful
You've got a voice like an angel
I love your laugh, I love your smile
You're so special, one of a kind
You're personality is what makes you shine
and this is why I've fallen for you
When I looked in those bright blue eyes
I couldn't fight the fight
And some would ask why
All I said was
This is what happens when love takes over

windows looking out
over a beer foaming ocean
azure views every side
in a Puff the Magic Dragon world
cherry brides dance
in white chocolate underpants
sipping juice out of the cactus
it just takes practice
to leave the real world behind
a day or two –
to unwind

BALMORALITY OF GEOCARPY WEBBED FEET ANOINT AT THE TRIDENT OF POSEIDON SEES THE OLIVASTER MOULIN VEES OF  VARSAL GESTALT SALVATION AS CORNERSTONE CAPSTONES OF ARCHAIC ANTIQUITY BLEATING IN ANTEBELLUM FORESIGHT THE BLARING AMPHIGORY OF A THOUSAND TASTES OF LEPIDINE RAGMATICAL RANCOR DISSOLUTE ONLY IN ITS FORMULAIC WELKINS BY WALLFISH FREEBOOTERS CONSTELLATED BY THE STELLION STANCHION WHELVES ARMADA THAT SPARTANISM OF RENEWED POST-MODERN ****** CAN NEVER USE THERMOLYSIS IN THE SECRET ESOTERIC ARTS OF NIDAMENTAL NANOTECHNOLOGY THE FUTURE WIREWOVEN BELLETRIST OF ENCEPHALIZATION QUOTIENTS WIREDRAWN OVER HYPERBOLES OF MASCON GEOCARPY BECAUSE OF GEROSCOPY AND SENICIDE AMONG MANY A SPATHODEA ENLIGHTENED BY GHOST DANCE PERIBLEBSIS IN WILD WEST BILL CODY’S DAYDREAMS OF PRANCING NORDIC FLUMINOUS STREAMS OF DIVULGENCE OF RIVULATION FOR RUDENTURE IN JASPERATED JESUITICAL JARVEYS OF RECONAISSANCE OF THE TIGHT-LIPPED ALWAYS PHILANDERING WITH FIDELITY TO THE CLEPSAMMIA OF THE DEEPEST VEESES FOR THE MEHARIS OF MELLIFEROUS SPRITES OF OREAD DEMIURGES IN ZENKIDU BECAUSE OF DREDGED BEACHES AT THE EDGE OF TOMORROW BEATIFYING THE PRIMIPARAS OF INGENUITY LOLLOPED UPON THE QUEEN OF OSIRIS AND THE LAVADERO OF SET BECAUSE IN THE INTERRAMIFICATIONS OF SKELDER AMONG THE SKERRY THAT EXISTS BORDERING AN ATLANTIAN TRAVESTY BEMOANED BY BECHIC BEBLUBBERED INCONTINENCE OF LABORIOUS BEINGS OF SUFFRAGE AND TEETOTALER PREROGATIVES OF THE OCTAGON BENEATH THE VERY STREETS OF PALTRIPOLITAN SCHOENABATIC BARCAROLES AND CREMATION OF CARE BOHEMIAS THAT SPAWNED THE MYSTICISM OF PSEPHITIC PSEPHOLOGY BASED PRIMARILY ON BLESBOK CONTINUITY AGAINST TERMINAL TERMINUS THAT SHEATHES THE APPARATUS OF DIDDICOYS SPRAUNCY AND SPRUNG FROM EVERY GALVANIC TEMPLE INTO THE VOLTAIC PILES OF THE  ARENAIDAN SECRECY OF SUMPTER NOW DISTRAUGHT ABOUT THE NUCLEOTIDES OF SUNBITTERN OILERS WHOSE CARAPACE ANNIHILATES THE IONIZATION OF IATRALIPTIC MALFEASANCE REGISTERED AS YOUTHQUAKES OF YESTERTEMPEST BECAUSE OF YENTAS OF YUAN DENYING THE LACQUER AND EXCHEQUER OF JAPAN MIGHT WE CONVENE A BETHEL AGAINST EXORCISM AND MIGHT WE FIND THE FOSSORS OF A GUARDED TRUST OF FRATERNAL LAMBENT LIGHT OF THE NINE MUSES TRAPPED IN AEGEAN DRYGULCH BECAUSE OF THE LABYRINTHIAN PROWESS OF THOSE THAT BURROLED THE CONTRAPLEX TAMARAWS OF ALL DESTINY UPON THE SIPHON OF LATRIA BECOMING THE BANNER OF AGGIORNAMENTO BEYOND APARTHEID IN KNIGHTED SECRECY BECAUSE OF BROCKFACED ZUGZWANGS OF SCHWERPUNKT AND THE DEEPEST SALINE RESERVES OF AN INTERNATIONAL ORDER FOUNDERING IN ANTIQUITY OF EXACT SYCOMANCY BUT PARADED IN THE MARATHON CEREMONIES OF HALICARNASSUS AND ITS COAST GUARD YOUTH AUXILIARY FIGHTING THE PUNJABS TO STALEMATE AND FINDING THE MAINOUR THE CULMINATION OF ALL ACUMINATED WARS OF ATTEMPERED ASTRINGENT ATTINGENT PLEROMORPHY IN THE ENCEPHALIZATION OF ANTIQUITY TO THE DIVINE WILL OF ALEXANDER’S KOWTOW AND THE DEMISE OF ANCIENT CATAMITES BY THE FLEECED SWORDS OF CREATION RATHER THAN CREATIONISM IN THE SHALLOP OF SWASHBUCKLERS STALLED IN STALWART TIMES AGAINST INSUPERABLE ODDS BUT BY THE POWER OF CRYPTODYNAMISM IN THE ERA BEFORE PHILOTECHNICAL REVOLUTION AND THE MONOCULUS OF THE SEPHIROTH MIGHT THE BARNSTORM THESE DAYS BE BRAZEN AS A SERPENT PATROLLING THE PROMENADE OF LUXOR AND THE QUAKY REAL MADRID BRADYSEISM OF GUARDED DELTAS AND THE JERBOAS THAT FLAUNT AGAINST THIGMOTAXIS AN ABILITY TO CONGEAL AND COAGULATE COMMUNITIES THROUGH TAPESTRY AND TALENT MET SQUARE WITH “MARS VOLTA” LEXICOGRAPHY THAT EAVESDROPS LIKE A VANGERMYTE VAMPIRE ASSOCIATING WITH A JAPANESE ARMADA’S SYMBOLIC EMBLEM TO A MEJII RESTORATION WORTH DISCUSSING IN A CASEMATE STOKEHOLD BRITSKA DOOMSTER ECONOMY POISED FOR REVALORIZATION OF ALL ELEMENTS OF THE CRAFT SUBLIMINAL IN OBSCURE HINTS ABOUT THE SPELEOTHEM OF NEOTTIOUS SECRETS MOST EXCELLENT MASTERS WOULD NEVER DISCLOSE AT THE PERIL OF THEIR AVIZANDUM OF SENNET AND THEIR GUARDED THEATRICS OF RIGMAROLE AROUND THE GALLOPING HORSEMEN OF PROVENANCE AND PROVIDENCE FOR MANIFEST DESTINY AND THE FREER REPUBLICS TO EXCAVATE OVER AND OVER AGAIN THE SAME APOTHEGMS THAT BLACKGUARD THE SOCKDOLAGERS OF OBSCURE REVELATION SUCH THAT THE HYPERBOREAN CATALFALQUES WHO WITH DISMISSIVE LOUR AND FEALTY DESIGN AND DESIGNATE ABRAXAS ABOVE MATRIOTISM AND HONOR BEFORE VALOR THE GRAVE MISTAKE OF THOSE WHO DIG THE VERY GRAVES THEMSELVES IN OSSIFICATION OF BRONZED BEASTS OF SERPENTINE MYTHOLOGY OF AURIFEROUS JOLLYBOATS FROM TURPENTINE TIMES OF SMARDAGINE REGARDS FOR THE CODEX AND TESTUDO BRACKISH IN INTEMERATION OF A EUHEMERIST CHRISTIANITY THAT RECOGNIZES THE PLIGHT OF THE GODS OF OLD AND THE HISTORICITY OF STRUGGLE SEPTIFEROUS IN DEGREES OF SEPARATION FROM DIVINE LIGHT AND THE ANGLE OF THE SACRED FIRES OF “THE PLEASUREDOME” WHERE MEMPHIS RITES ARE DEALT LIKE DRUGS AND RAMPANT SKULLDUGGERY FOMENTS THE CAFE AND THE SALON INTO A FRENZY ABOUT FUTURITION IN THE NEGOTIOSITY OF NEGOCIANTS OF SUBLIME MASTERWORKS YET WRITTEN BY THE ADEPT HANDS OF BELLETRIST FOR THE RUPESTRIAN ACCORDION ZEAL OF THE FEWER PIONEERS OF HYPOGEIODY WITH THE GALL TO STAND PROMINENT AGAINST SVEDBERG TO LIBERATE THE NOSEBAG NOSTRUM OF SCARAMOUCHES OF AGGIORNAMENTO DERIVED FROM THE TRIBESMAN OF THE DISAGIO REGULA AND REGULATION BECAUSE OF SWARTHY ENMITY AMONG SPRINGHARE NOILS OF CRYPTODYNAMISM UNSPOKEN AND INEFFABLE TO A WIDER AUDIENCE OF ASPIRING APPRENTICES OF THE CRAFT OF A KRAFT CHEESE BOONDOGGLE SO DARING IN ITS PSITTACISTS OF GENERATIVE PRE-PROGRAMMED NETWORKS THAT THE APOGEE OF OUR CIVILIZATION IS ALWAYS CURTAILED BY THE CURGLAFF OF PRODIGAL SONS ENSNARED BY PEDERASTY RATHER THAN DOCILE IN HETERONORMATIVE DIRECTIVES OF RESCRIPT FOR THE VARIOUS PRESBYTERIES DISTANCING THEMSELVES FROM THE EQUIPOISE OF CRIME TO PUNISHMENT BUT ALSO TO LASSO A ZEAL FOR PRIMIGENIAL VARDLES OF SOVENANCE AND THEIR ENCOUNTER WITH STELLAR SPECTRUM DERIVED FROM PHASMOPHOBIA BECAUSE OF THE LURCHING TYRANTS OF FAMIGERATION EVEN IN THEIR CABOTAGE MIGHT THEY SAIL LAVEERING AGAINST HEADWINDS OF CATASTROPHISM AND MAXIMALISM BOTH CONVENTICLES OF A QUACKERY OF CHARLATAN ORDERS WHO DEBATE ENDLESSLY OVER SYCOMANCY ONLY TO FIND THEIR FAFFLE INCONSEQUENTIAL IN THE SIGHT OF THE ABRAXAS OF ABAXIAL ANACHORIC TREASURES OF THE EXODUS THAT PARENTS THE FIRSTBORN RATHER THAN TURNS THEIR NIDOR INTO NEPIONIC ENSLAVEMENT BECAUSE NEITHER AN ENNOMIC DEGREE OR DECREE NOR A CAESARAPROPISM UPON THE EARTH FORMIDABLE IN NOMOGENY BECAUSE OF THE SLIPSLOP OF SLICKENSLIDE CLOTURE AND CLOUT OF THE GENEROSITY OF MIKE BOSSY BOSE PRIOR TO THE INVENTION OF BASS ITSELF AND BEFORE ACID HAD ITS PROMENADE HEYDAY ON THE STREETS OF INTERNATIONAL ACCORD RECUPERATING FROM DEVASTATING CONFLAGRATION A RECUMBENTIBUS FOR THE SHANGHAIED RIVERS THAT FLOW FROM COAST TO COAST AND THE MOUNTAINS THAT TOWER ABOVE SPHACELATED ARTIFICE TO DISCOVER SPIRACULATED WISDOM IS SOPHROSYNE AND MODEST IN TEMPERAMENT LIKE THE READY PLAYER ONE ACQUEST FOR PALATABLE CONTROL OF CEPHALIGATION YET INVENTED BUT ALWAYS DISCLOSED AGAINST THE SUMPTER OF FETED AND FATED TRAPEZES OF THE LOST ARTS OF THE LOST COVENANTS AMONG MEN AND AMONG THEIR FRONT-RANK REAR-GUARD TUMESCENT TONGUE TONGUE-TIED BY MATHEMATICISM TOO LENIENT TO EXPOSE THE TRICKERY OF THE RETINA NOR THE RETINACULUM OF THE GARDENS POISONED BY CHINA WHITE RATHER THAN CHINA AS WE SASHAY INDIRECTLY FROM LONGINIQUITY OF INSULAR BASTIONS OF FORTIFIED ROORBACKS OF PREHISTORIC MERIT AND ABDERVINE MOVEMENTS CONVERGENT UPON THE OMPHALISM OF SOCRATIC PROMACHOS LIVING IN THE CLIFFS OF DOVER (A MISNOMER THAT FEW MASONS WILL UNDERSTAND) BECAUSE WHEN WE FLOUT THE SPANISH ARMADA AND  DISCOVER THE TRIBULOID LIES OF BERLINE SYNCOPATION OF HETEROCHRONY WE FREE OURSELVES TO SEE A FORDED RIVER NEVER BOLDER AND A MAGICAL RECIPE ALWAYS PROSCRIBED. LET THE MYSTICISM OF OUR AGE HEARKEN THE PARAGONS OF ANCIENT GREECE AND THEIR COUNTERPARTS IN ROME WHO OVERSAW A WORLD IGNORANT TO THE ISRAELI COVENANT AND WORLDS APART FROM “THE GIRL IS MINE” JOCKEYING JOCKOS OF JESUITICAL JANIZARY AFFILIATION THAT PREFER TO BURY THEIR SECRETS TO SUCH  A GREAT DEPTH OF BAROMETRIC PRESSURE THAT FEW FORCES ARE HERCULEAN ENOUGH TO DISCOVER THE LITURGY OF THE SECRET RITES AND THE VAULTED PRESERVATION OF THE OLIVASTERS OF FORMER DAYS THAT STILL SURVIVE UNALTERED IN A WORLD GOVERNED BY A RESOURCEFULNESS IN BOTH REPUBLICS AND AUTOCRACIES BECAUSE THE SYBOTIC SONDAGE OF THE TURTLEBACK IS THE SIGNATORY SLAVERY OF CHAVISH AMONG THOSE THAT CAROM PROFOUND TRUTHS IN TWADDLED DISMAY FOR MAYDAY CONFLAGRATIONS OF RAPID EMERGENCE AND IMMERGENCE INTO AN ORDER OF SOCIETY OF ISONOMY AND IXIODIC RESIDUE OF THE CORTEGES THAT ARE ENUMERATED ONLY AT THE BEHEST OF THE VERY FEW THAT THE PROPER NAMES AT ANY MASONIC LODGE ARE NEVER PUBLICLY SPOKEN AMONG THE FELLOWCRAFT BECAUSE ONLY THE TRUEST MASTER MASONS DESERVE TO KNOW HOW OUR PAST IS AN EISOPTROPHOBIA AND OUR FUTURE IS AN EISOPTROMANIA BUT DON’T BELONG TO THE PHASMOPHOBES AGAINST THE GHOST DANCE NOR PARALYZED BY THE PRIVILEGE OF VENOSTASIS AND NEVER ACCUSE ANOTHER MASON OF RHEOTAXIS IF HIS UPRIGHT APRON AND HIS WAMPUM BRACELET STARRING THANKSGIVING MEGACERINE MELEAGRINE STERQUILINIAN ARTIFICE THAT HAS CORRUPTED THE ROT OF PENTAPOLISES DEFEATED ONLY BY THE INGENUITY OF THE RURAL SATELLITES TO ORBIT IN SECRECY AND VALOR TO SUSTAIN THE REPUBLIC AND SCAVENGE LIKE NEOPHRONS IN MEMPHIS TENNESSEE JUST AS MUCH AS MEMPHIS EGYPT THE TRUE NECKLACES THAT COMPORT SOLEMN GIFTS IN GRAFT TO THE HARANGUE OF DISTANT PRESIDENTS BEFORE OUR TIME HANDICAPPED NEVER BY FORESIGHT BUT BY CULPABLE NOMOGRAPHY CREATING A DIESTRUS OF THE SACRED FIRES AND THE SACRILEGE OF ALEXANDRIA BESET BY THE ASPS BITE AND THE DESTRUCTIVE ALLEGIANCE OF CHUCKY AGAINST THE WISDOM OF THE WIDEST POSSIBLE VARSAL PERSPECTIVE OF HUMAN GEOSELENIC AFFAIRS IMAGINED BY THE SCRIVELLOS OF MEN OR THE ONOLATRY OF PALM SUNDAY COLTS RIDING DONKEYS TO PISCIFAUNA AGAINST NEW JERSEY DEVILED EDISONS WHO IN DISHONOR BUT ELITE GRAFT BECAME A FORMIDABLE LOCOMOTIVE OF INDUSTRIALIZED GALVINIZATION BECAUSE OF THE NAUCLATIC PACTS OF PEACE UNDERGIRDING THE GRANNARY GRAVAMEN IN THE BIG DIG BARTONS SWASHBUCKLING WITH RANCOR IN RANCID TRUCULENCE AMONG THE HISTORICITY OF A NEW ENGLAND TROLLOP OF DESICCATION IN A MAIDAN LAND OF ESBATS PERSECUTED BECAUSE OF FRENCH EMIGRATION THE EXODUS OF FORMER WARS MIGHT THEIR CRUCIBLE BE THE LITMUS TEST OF THE LIMITS OF OUR NEWFOUND CHRISTIAN EUHEMERISM AS WE LEARN THE CONVERGENCE OF THE CUNEIFORM CODEX AND THE LEVERAGE OF AUTOMATION FOR AUTOMATONS SILKALINE IN PRESTIGE AND GUZZLED BY THE GLAMOUR OF REPARTEE IN STAGED DOWNFALL AND STARLET MUSES OF ATHENAEUM AGAINST THE HEBENONS OF WAYSPAYED MULIEBRITY FIGHTING A WEGOTIST WAR AGAINST THE SOVENANCE OF TURNVEREINS OF TRUTH THAT ARE THE TORCHIERS OF THE AGES SUNKEN IN HARBORS AND ELEVATED IN INTREPID COURAGE AMONG THE HIGHEST PEAKS AND THE MOST PROFOUND DEPTHS OF HUMAN IMAGINATION FOR CAGOULES TO WHIMPER IN THEIR WHIFFETS OF BORTS THAT BECOME THE SATINETS PRIMARY OBSESSION WITH REGAL MATTERS PERTAINING TO EL PASO COUNTY INVITATIONS TO A BRIGHTER MORE PROSPEROUS FUTURE OF FORESIGHT AND GENIUS GILDED BY THE MATRIOTISM OF ALL CONVEX TIMES ANGLED DOWN IN AAONMS GRADGRINDS WHO PARSE THE PARSECS THAT SEPARATE US FROM THE COMMODORES BECAUSE THE SLEEK HINTS OF INTIMATION ESCAPE REVIEW BECAUSE THE BRONTEUM OF ALL SINECURES OF SYNCLASTIC TRUTH FAVOR THE UNDEFEATED STREAKS OF SPRAWLING ARCADES AND GLORIFIED STATUETTES SPIRALLING IN VERTIGINOUS DANCES AROUND THE TEMPLES OF PARIS TELEGRAPHED BY THE NOBILITY OF BUTCHERED LUKEWARM TAUNTS AGAINST THE BELLETRIST OF PROVINCIAL FOREIGNERS GIFTED WITH TURQUOIS VIOLENCE AND PURPLE REIGN THAT  ANOINTS EVERY GENERATION ABOVE ITS PEDIGREE AND FINDS THE 17 HORNS BLOWING TO BE LESS OF A KNELLED NUISANCE AND MORE OF A GRAVID DISCOVERY OF INCUBATIONS AND WEATHERBOARDS OF METEORIC SHAMBLES SPIRACULATED IN SAUNA DEPTHS OF BRACKISH CATADROMOUS GOLDMINERS WHO PARLAY THE BEST OF TWO BETS UPON THE PAXILLOSE TRAVESTY OF WOODED COCARDENS WHICH WALLOP EVERY JALEO OF STEVEDORES BECAUSE OF THEIR HANDSPIKE JARABES OF BAISEMAN AND COMPASS AIMING TRUE NORTH AWAY FROM THE LUNACY OF SOUTH PARK TURGID TURMOIL OF TELAESTHESIA IN THE FORMATIVE DURESS OF THE CONATION OF THE GREATEST OF PEAKS ESTABLISHED BY THE SPIKENARDS AND IRENARCHS OF THE GREATEST OF SUBTLETIES BECAUSE THE GILD OF SIRIUS RADIO AND THE SUBTERRANEAN MASKIROVKA OF WHIGGARCHY FIGHTING WITH SEMPERVIRENT TIMBERLASK GLOCHIDATE PUNITIVE RAISONNEURS MIGHT THEY ALL DEVISE WAYS TO SEE THE SYRINX OF THE EMBEDDED GALLANTRY OF DISASTERS THAT TURNED ICE INTO WATER AND THE CHEMISTRY THAT TURNS WATER INTO THE MOST RAREFIED WINE. SOME MIGHT ACCUSE THE ***** OF SABOTAGE IN HIS DEFECTED RECORDS SPREE OF  CEREAL KILLER DEMIURGES FOR THE FREEBOOTERS OF MANY A PRISON YET LIBERATED BY THE ELEUTHEROPOMANIA OF CACOETHES OF KANTIKOY IN THE MEGALOGRAPHY OF MANY GENERATIONS. WE ENTERTAIN A DIVERSE ARCADE IN ARCADIA BECAUSE THE BEHEST OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE ANCIENTS IS A QUIBBLE OF EPHESIANS TRYING THEIR BEST TO GAMBOL THEIR WAY INTO NUMBATS OF THE GREATEST VIRTUOSITY BEAMING AND BEAMISH OF FATIDICAL RESIGNATION OF THE MOFUSSIL TRIAD TRIAGE OF SUMPTERS OF SCURFY SCRAP METAL EMBEDDED IN THE RICHES OF THE CALUMET MOUNTAINS MOUNTED BY MOUNTEBANK QUARTERBACKS OF SIMPATICO RATHER THAN REVANCHE REGELATION PRIMARY TO THE COLOR-CODED SMARDAGINE PROVENANCE OF ALL PROVIDENTIAL MEN SERVING THE GLORY OF GRAND ARCHITECTS OF THE LOST SERENADE AGAINST JIMSWINGERS OF URBACIOUS AND ULMACEOUS POVERTY AGAINST TEXAS (VERY OBSCURE HINT YOU WON’T FIGURE IT OUT) BECAUSE THE GOLDEN BADGE OF THE HONOR OF A NEWFOUND WAPENTAKE DECIDED DECISIVELY BY A NETHERLANDS SPRITE FINESSING MORAL FIBER AND RECOILING IN TRAMONTANE GILDS THAT ANTICIPATE WITH ARCEATE OCREATED FASHIONS KNEADED TOWARDS A SELF-FULFILLING BELL MIGHT THE APPROPRIATION OF THE TACO BY THE CRACKLING THUNDER OF CACOMISTLES AND CREAKY CREANCERS OF CLITTER RATHER THAN CETACEAN CLOTURE BECAUSE THE RUNAGATE PERSECUTIONS OF PURITAN PILGRIMMAGE ARE DESOLATE WASTELANDS OF IMPROPER DECORUM FOR WARBLING TILTS OF RUMOR AND ROORBACK TO ZEPHYR THEIR WAY FROM THE VERSAILLES TO THE WALDOLF ASTORIA (OBSCURE HINT) BECAUSE OF THE SAD SPATTEES OF THE REAL-LIFE HINDENBURG WHICH SAILED TOWARDS AN UNFORESEEN CONVALESCENCE RATHER THAN A QUAGMIRE OF QUAHOG INFAMY RETICULATED VERY DEFTLY AND WITH ABARTICULAR VENGEANCE THE NEWER VENDETTAS OF EBBERMAN TRYING TO SECURE THE OBELIZATION OF OBELISKS ONLY TO TITANISM RATHER THAN TO SELF-REALIZATION OF A CELLULAR WORLD BUILT ON SILKALINE SATINETS TO PERUSE THE SALON AND CRAVENLY RIVET EVERY SUBSIDIARY ECONOMY TO THE LEVERAGE OF NEW WORLD CONQUEST MEETING OLD WORLD ASTROLOGY BECAUSE MYTHS OF DWARVES AND TITANS MARK THE ESCHATOLOGY OF “24K MAGIC” BECAUSE WE WANDER AGAINST WASMS OF WOODSHEDDING TO THE PARVENUS OF THE ARRIVISTE IVORY RATHER THAN THE COUNTERFEITER IVORRIDE OF BRAWNY RASP AND SIDEREAL ACCORD TO THE ZITHER AND FLUTE OF THE NINE SISTERS LOUD ENOUGH IN THEIR BLATTERNOPHONES THAT THEY AWAKENED THE ENLIGHTENED AGE THAT ONCE ONLY SKIRMISHED LIKE TIGERS ROARING IN TUBIFACIENT DELIRIUM MIGHT THEY CHANCE UPON THE BORTS EMBEDDED DEEP WITHIN THE SUBTEXT OF ARTEMIS AND THE CONQUEST OF THE PUNJAB BY THE ABEYANCE OF ROERICH BECAUSE OF THE REVOLUTIONARY ZEAL OF ALL-SEEING-EYE PREROGATIVES SWAMPY AND SCAPPLED AROUND RECIPIANGLES OF RECTANGULAR OBLATION AND NUTATION IN IMMATERIAL METEMPERICAL PHILOSOPHY OF UNNATURAL LAWS OF SARANGOUSTY AGAINST THE SCHMEGGEGY OF THE AGGRY AND AGRARIAN PERSIAN KNIGHTS WHO USED THE BRITSKA MAGI AND THE WISE SERVANTS OF THE KINGDOM OF THE NORTH AGAINST THE KINGDOM OF THE SOUTH TO AVENGE THEIR SEPARATE PEDIGREES BECAUSE THEY SOUGHT THE IMMORTAL WORD OF AMARANTHINE TRUTH AND THE ANACAMPSEROTE OF VIVID REVETS MIGHT THEY INCUR FEWER WINDS OF DAMAGE IN THE CARCASS OF POMPEII THAT CAESARS REJOICED ABOUT EVEN AT THE CUSP OF CATACLYSM BECAUSE THE SPRINGHARE NOOSES AND NOILS OF NAVES OF NAVARCHY BELONG TO THE SUNDOG JEREMIADS AND TALES OF THE GREATER BULK OF RESIGNATION. WE FIND OURSELVES FLUMMOXED AT THE DEMARCHE OF THE IDES BECAUSE OF THE JALOUSIES AND JEALOUSIES OF THE SCHISM THAT OCCURRED IN VENDETTA FOR QUAKY GROUND AGAINST THEOSOPHIES HOISTING STANLEY CUPS AND STANNARY COPIES OF THE ORIGINAL ARTIFACTS OF GREED AND OPPORTUNISM WHICH FORTIFY ALL MAINLINED  ECONOMIES AGAINST GILVARINGE HEDONISM WHICH SPURTLES ON CATALLACTIC CORDWAINERS WHO SERVE ON THE COUNCIL OF ATHENA BRONZED LIKE ZEUS UPON OLYMPUS MIGHT THESE VERY OBSCURE DETAILS LEAD TO THE WILDEST GOOSE CHASE UNLESS THE REAL GRAVITY OF SLAPSTICK CONFUSION THAT BELIES THE STEPNEY OF STEMSON BY THE STULMS THAT STOPE THE PERIPHERY OF ALL STARS AND THE PENULTIMATE DEGREES OF ALL CARREY ROYALTY TO THE SOCIETY OF THE SCIENCES OF WHITTAWERS THAT PAVED THE WAY FOR MIRACLE ABOVE JUSTICE RATHER THAN TRUMPETED DIKEPHOBIA SWARMING AN OCEAN OF HOLOBENTHIC THINKERS INFORMED OF THIS ZEITGEIST BEYOND THE PURBLIND UMBRILS OF THE PETULANT TEENS WARRING AROUND BEEHIVES OF FLAMBOYANCE BECAUSE OF A MISINTERPRETATION OF THE ALLEGORIES OF PRODIGAL SUNS AND SONS SET FREE BY GREEN-EYED LADY KNOWLEDGE THE GATEWAY TO THE MASTER VARDLE AND THE ACCESSIBILITY OF MOHAWKS WITH FURRY EVAPORATIONS AND THE FEATS OF ANTIQUITY WE CELEBRITIES CELEBRATE WITH ZANYISM AND ZEAL AGAINST THE ZEKS OF PARVANIMITY IN A WORLD STULTIFIED BY ARTICLES OF PRESS AND IMPRIMATUR ABOUT STILTED MECHANISMS OF COVERT VITRAILS OF THE VARSAL PROBABILITIES OF CATACLYSM AGAINST THE ATROCITIES OF ABAXIAL VOLTINISM OF CATASTROPHISM FOR NAGORS AND NACREOUS SECRETS THAT ONLY THE TRIBUNES OF LIGHT AND THE DAWNING ACCORD OF ADVENT AND PARCEL TO THE CONVENIENCE OF ROYALTY IN APANAGE MIGHT WE FAFFLE THROUGH SERVITUDE AND BECOME FEWTERERS OF A MIGHTIER HUMANITY THAT OVERCOMES THE QUIDLIBERTARIANS BECAUSE OF THE BROCKFACED BRONCHOS THAT EXISTS BECAUSE OF BRADYSEISM AND VANDYKES OF WALDFLUTE INDEMNIFICATION OF THE CODED VERSE OF A NEWER NOSTRADAMUS ISSUED WITH HINDSIGHT BETTER THAN A 1001 ARABIAN KNIGHTS BECAUSE THE MAGI OF FRANKINCENSE AND MYRRH KNEW THE HUMILITY OF THEIR STATURE BECAUSE OF THE DIVINITY AND GENTILITY OF EPHESIAN VECTIGALS OF EXTRAVAGANCE AND WONDER BECAUSE OF PETRIFIED THUGS LEARNING THE WAYS OF MODERNIZATION THAT THEIR DEAD TEMPLES AROUSE IN THE KNAVERY OF MEN BOTH DEAD AND LIVING. WE MUST ALL UPHOLD THE SINUOUS PEDIGREE OF AARON BURR BECAUSE THE FRIGOLABILE ELEMENTS OF WANCHANCY HAVE A NASTY HABIT OF RECRUDESCENCE AND RECIDIVISM BECAUSE IN SOME CONTRAPLEX RATIOCINATION WE FIND THE CELTIC BRIBE INSUFFICIENT FOR ILASTICAL CREDENDA BECAUSE THE METAGNOMY OF BARAGNOSIS AFFLICTING THE SOPITERS OF REGAL LORE AND LEGEND AND THE MAGNA CARTA REVOLUTION THAT USHERS US TO BIG BENJAMINS AND THE HEAVIEST OF QUANDARIES BRITTLE AT REDSHORT RESONANCE BECAUSE OF NEUTROSOPHY AT NEUTERED DISTANCES OF REGARDANT ARTIFACTS THAT THE PATIENT LIONIZATION OF THE TRUE CONOSSIEURS OF THE THOMAS CROWNE AFFAIR MIGHT FIND THEMSELVES STRANDED BY SUBSIDIARY DETAILS BECAUSE OF THE REGIONAL FANFARE OF LURID TRIUMPH AGAINST LAVISH PROMONTORIES OF CRAGGY  PEDIGREE GROWING INTO LICKERISH LICENSE THAT SPAWNS THE ANACHORIC RHEOTAXIS BECAUSE OF THE VULPECULAR MACROPICIDE OF THE ENTOMBED LOVE AND MOTION OF CINEMATIC TRIAGE AND TRIUMPH OF TRUE MESSIANIC VISION BOLTROPED TO BOLAR CONTINGENCIES OF THE CALVOUS MANY UPSETTING THE MERIT OF THE CHIVALRY OF THE FEW EXCLUDED FROM PRESBYTERY AND SANCTUARY BECAUSE OF INSUFFICIENT MEANS RATHER THAN INSUFFICIENT ENDS TO ACHIEVE ENTELECHY THROUGH AUTOGNOSIS. AMEN