In bed
     The ocean
Like an aged boat, bobbing
Restful
Below the nights undulating
     Consciousness

Pillow waves
       Under ceiling skies
The shadowy smoke nods
     Silent
Unsealing the eyes

The rustling sea, rocking
Against its warm body
     Gentle
As the ever revolving tide

Boney ores
     Heavy and sunken
Swill at the vast inky ocean

Opiated and endless – Dream
Of one day sailing; leaving

This dark malignant sea behind.

I remove my shoes beside my bed;
Morning comes,
I trip and fall
And bust my head.
What a terrible place for shoes!

Evening comes and I sit down in my room
After working like a ******* idiot slave.
I remove my shoes,
But I feel the pain...
So I throw my shoes across the room.
Morning comes again;
I make my way to the bathroom
And before I know anything
I'm on the ground.
What a terrible place for shoes!

The day drags on as
Headaches and embarrassment
Follow me around throughout my daily adventures.
They laugh at me and grind my cells
So I take a few vicodin.
The day comes to an end and
In my opiated stupor
I remove my shoes and
Leave them by my bedside
Once again.
Morning comes
And I'm on the ground
For the third time.

This is it.
I've had enough.
No more ******* shoes
In the house.
I train myself to leave
All shoes in the front hall.
This should do the trick.
I wake up the next morning
And all the shoes are gone!
Christ... I must have forgotten to
Lock the front door.
**** kids...

the bow of your back, taut
sweat sticky
opiated and fizzing,the air stirs
and does not settle
the garden caged between your ribs
cracked and sprouting,paint
fumes sputtering out of your
fingertips,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane

the bow of your mouth, sweet
spit tacky
thunderous and crowing,skin
smelling of smoke and apples
the starstuff wrapped in your fist
aching and bruised,your knuckles
purpling and swollen,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane

"We'll" I said before slowly hitting the burning joint I held clenched between my scared and calloused finger tips.
"I my dear am a friend of the cold",I exhaled and enveloped her heart shaped face within the cloud.
Her eyes squinted against the smoke but never left my face.
"You can call me akin to the empty.A first cousin to the cold and
uncomfortable wetness."
I ran my wrist under my runny nose and smiled.
I scratched the stubble along my chin and smiled.
The dope was always good at this time of year,I was high and the wind was warm.
Almost as warm as the opiated blood that raced throughout my tired pain free body.
She stared at me and waited on a word,a line of some false greatness to fog her mind a little more.
She blinked once and only once and with that movement in time I felt a little bad about who I was and why I was here.
I quickly recovered as I always have and filled her line of sight with a forced smile and a lazy eye brow raise.
"But be that as I may be,I am indeed in love with the warmth."
I said to her and watched her o shaped lips break into a smile.
"I like the warmth too "she said, her grey eyes now filled with hope.
"I know you do darling",I said then reached my hand out and rested it on her bony shoulder.
I managed to bring forth another smile from a place deep beneath all of what I used to be,and when I did she smiled with me.But in this version of reality she was truly smiling alone as I stood and wore the deep lines of falseness across my face.
"I know you do sweetheart",I said again attempting to sound like some type of sick caring father
"I know you do ....."

there is a glacier
partially concealed
melting from a climactic
climate shift revealing a
reality congealed by revolt

rebels burdened with
a philosophy that
elevates humanity
insisting we will not grovel
before a vain messiah
espousing erroneous
iterations of ideology

will the human race permit
the iceberg to dissolve
as vapid reformist
rhetoric inundates our
political consciousness with
pragmatic progressivism

or will we rise in resistance
with the radicals
fists clenched in protest and
hands outstretched to one
another rather than
lifted high in praise to a savior as we
witness the glacier solidify once more

as CO2 perforates our atmosphere
with heady highs and noxious toxins
will we succumb like dumbfounded
addicts intoxicated by inoculation
consuming the opiated semantics
of charismatic personas or will we

challenge the corrupt
with our wits about us
facing the sobering corporate
corporeality with the pride
of lions facing a den of thieves

abandon the chosen champion
of the vanguard party
we stand hand-in-hand
7 billion
sisters and brothers
in an anthemic chorus of

solidarity that shakes the
bastions of the enthroned
with the resounding shouts of
perseverance in our
non-compliant defiance

our manifestos are written
in the blood sweat and tears
we've shed for this
dream deferred
and we will not be the
silent majority anymore

the masque of anarchy
is ours to share
will we wear its visage
or will hell freeze over
before we choose
freedom
over happiness

they say the road to hell
is paved with golden intentions
and they are not mistaken i
see it's latent
hidden within psychosocial declarations
of everlasting love from a narcissistic god
i don’t give much credence to
the insistent proclamations of eternal
damnation in a metaphysical realm
of torment and brimstone but

don’t get me wrong
i’ve seen hell in the
wolfish grins of pilfering preachers
in the glassy eyes of opiated masses
i was careful when i stared
into that dark abyss
knowing it glared right back at me
emphatically declaring that i
was the lost sheep
a fallen brother separated
from the good shepherd’s flock
a prodigal son isolated in
alienating atheism but

i’ve come to love my
outcast status i’d rather
rot in the dirt after
raising hell on Earth
than suffer rebirth in ethereal bliss
espousing endless reiterations
of worship for a
fictitious megalomaniac

god is dead we killed him
deicide stains these hands
in shades of scarlet and crimson
the triumph of humanity will not
fade once again to the putrid
obeisance and ridiculous reverence
or religious references to divinity

salvation lies within

two decades of dedication
to the Christian ideal
left me dejected rejecting the
shallow lies and overt
misconceptions of religion
chose to begin again in the
reclamation of self-determination
i found a dignity independent from
a deity perpetuating guilt and regret
and though i will never forget the
progressive lessons of a radical rabbi
offering a message of hope and forgiveness
i’ve found that those same tenants
are seriously lacking in the
contemporary Christian church

if your god is
omnipotent and not
merely impotent
than tell me why he
needs you to
defend him

come on coward
if you’re real
show yourself
here’s the chance to
prove me wrong
sling lightning from the skies
and take my life i’m
not afraid i’m ready to die
and part from the suffering
that inundates this existence

strike me down and remove
all doubt of your majestic malevolence
a malfeascent adolescent prone
to fits of jealous rage and
temporal temper tantrums

that’s what i thought

i only hear the sounds of
a theological clown show
self-styled scholars enumerating  
passages of mercy and compassion
in the same holy text that condones
**** and slavery and child abuse
which would be ironic if it
hadn't been slapped together over
centuries of violence and bloodshed
and used to justify two millennia's worth of
repressive oppression a
putrescent obsession with control

it's true what Sartre said
hell is other people
and we have No Exit
from the depravity that
obfuscates critical inquiry
in the immortal words of
Shakespeare the nether-realms
are emptied all the devils are here

your god maybe a figment of
fantastic imagination but so
much horror has been wrought
with his name as the justification

so forgive me if i seem hyperbolic
but it is no exaggeration  
when i declare that religion itself
is a hell from which we're still
trying desperately to wake up

beneath the tin roof,
beside the shrubs of unnameable greens,
where white light bouncing off white walls
does not touch your skin but sear you all the same⁠—
the snip of metal,
the lull of sporadic humming,
sends you to opiated oblivion,
and on your feet:
waves of dark hair
touch the earth
and get blown away
lightly, slowly

If I could I'd spend
a little bit of this
forever with her
underneath that
streetlamp.

I'd stand with her
there as she leaned
against me with her
fists clenched together
at her chest.
Her Whiskey dressed
breath warm against
my neck.
The moth shadowed
light enhancing her
cheek bones and
proving to me that
there is indeed artistry
in our creation.

If I could I'd spend
whatever is left with
her drunk and troubled,
broke and incomplete,
in Love and alone.
Together but still longing
for that loneliness that
always seems to make
things right.

If given the choice I'ld
probably pick alone.
Or maybe a moment with
her beneath that streetlamp
on the corner of some
numbered street and
Hell itself.

For now I'll fix whats
left  of my stash.
Pour me a wine.
Then fall into a nod
as my opiated mind flashes
a  memory
of her smiling grenadine
stained teeth.

And when the sun decides
to return,so shall
I continue on my way
without her.
Ill slowly pass these
numbered streets
in this lost and broken form
that I've chosen
for this world to judge.

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Haha!
And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!
Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the gear
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're middle-aged
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun

                            By Phil Roberts

You know me better than I, better than I know myself; you know me like I want to, like I was my own world's father. A famous goddess, parishioners won't say her name, I wrote letters to her personally, but was never brave enough to greet face to face. There's a type of prose, only intimate partners dare to go, where adjectives take verbs in rounds, and lovers sing each other songs. I've you and you have me, I'm captured by you so lovely, there's nothing I wouldn't do, good or bad, I'd ****** for you- a great vegan harvest, all of everything for my love the goddess.

In a world worshiped by false idols,
Where musicians and actors are modern day deities and neon signs flourese divine promises in magazines and the televangelist newscasters inject the masses with fear and false promises.
Opiated zombies take to the streets and go about their lives sleeping with eyes wide open at screens that have more meaning than their banal lives. But I woke-up long ago looking at the photo of your limitless azure eyes through a photograph. Long before I met you, I knew that one day our paths would cross and we would drive through the desert, deserted towns listening to Townes van Zandt and other musicians that most have only heard of through top 40 covers of their soulful songs.

The cacophony of coyotes, pumas, rattlesnakes and rabbits darting to and fro, in front of our headlights as quartz crystals reflect the full moon light, and Joshua Trees dance beneath the stars while we talk about Morrison, Harrison, Hendrix and the impact they have had on our lives. While most are drunk or dreaming, we are living the ultimate dream. I cannot wake-up to a world without you there-

Beside me and a space pig curled up asleep on the backseat as we trek across the Milky Way.

I smell the fires, their noisome stench fills my nose with the harsh turpentine and piceous smoke, but in the night we cannot see the trees. This fire could be right off our balcony. It could just be a neighbor's barbecue. How can people enjoy eating burnt and coal-battered meat? Your Uncle's neighbor apparently enjoys street meat. He killed a tick-covered deer, while he rode his scooter over the pass at night, and lied, he said he hunted it with his bare hands. Why must men and women and people lie, as if their stories capture more attention if they don't share what actually happened.

Dear you, I love you so. More and more with each passing day, I just hope one day we'll both leave this place, and share our final breaths in the same Earthen place. I promise you I'll share my final resting place so long as it's in a grave. I worry you'll want someone to spread your ashes, on a ski run in Aspen. Can we pretend small creatures live inside our walls, and rule a kingdom somewhere on our second floor, where Fraggles scramble to complete construction, on a network of tunnels.

I told you I would re-propose to you every day, I love you more than words can say. It's unquantifiable, just look beneath my eyelids. There's a man who used to share the hash he smoked, in a cove, somewhere in Venice, where the locals met us.

I'd drink and quaff your humanness, the pulchritude I cannot resist. The splendor you exude in all the passions you choose to do.

Hey you, if you find me here. Let me know if I'm still alive. I've made a wish to live, and be the father of your kids. We sing and laugh and sway, we eat apples and honey and pray, to an invisible god that could disperse all our flaws. And this moon, the one that has shone itself on empty roads, ignites the stars and stares at us shattering this cold. You were made in the image of life, I've been incommunicado but connected your dots. I wish I could color you by numbers, and count the hours we've slumbered.

There's cold-weather dripping from my nose. Where howling wolves and coyotes go. Where elk canter and mule deer pass, and a small boy moose named Bullwinkle waits for his mother to come back. Here is where the spotted marten eats from a rotting corpse, maybe it's a small naked shrew, it's map lines strewn across this town, where tourists think they know us, but they don't know my goddess.

Hey love, I'll never leave you alone. I'll never go to bed before you arrive home. I try and try not to yell, or even raise my voice above the evenings sounds. Do you hear the moose stepping on the frost-laden grass? It must have been starving for it to come this far. I'm learning now I know more about nothing, which I prefer to knowing something.

My hands won't put on the show, I told you I thought I knew. I prefer to be going down, so long as you'll always be around. I could count ten seconds until I realize my sentence. Poor birds fall out of the trees, there wings must have been freezing. I wait for you and I wait for your words. Your heart is made from all the things, I've only recently realized I've seen. Together, forever more. I take my hat off and hold open the door, I kiss your neck and eyelids and enjoy our shared silence. Keep me and never go away, you're worth more than the sky may lead, or the oceans breathe. I won't step, I won't speak, or breathe. Dear goddess, you're the only one I need. I need no one but you. I only need to know that you need me too. And one hour our shadows will meld together, while we wait outside freezing as we wait for summer.

But each season holds its own magic,
A seasonal  zeitgeist where we create our own traditions that supersede the Hallmark holidays that our oligarchies have created to lead people astray from the cohesive love and communal celebrations that our predecessors revered.
Yet each moment is a cause for celebration for you are a part of my life. I cannot wait to call you my wife.

From the moment I awake and feel your warm morning breath on my chest,
I breathe in the perfume of you and kiss you gently on the forehead as you hug me closer and face nuzzle me more deeply.
Each day, more perfect than the last.
I fight sleep because life with you is more splendorous than the culmination of all of my dreams. A symphony and an endless sonnet, fairy tales cannot come close to telling the story of our love.

You show my fingers where to go on the electric guitar strings of the mahogany fretboard of the guitar you gave me for my birthday.
My hands are slowly learning how to the play the notes and lyrics that I conjure in my mind. I cannot wait to play the songs that you inspire my soul to play. We shall sing together - a melodic harmony of a quixotic ambrosia that accompanies the vibrations of my guitar strings filtered through guitar pedals and amplified in warm undertones by the Fender tube amp.
Your bass line keeps pace with the heartbeat of the song as our voices go on
Singing the songs of our adventures
As leather wearing vegans and expedition smokers.

We smoke Marlboro Red Labels to pay homage to our Americana heritage,
As we drive the Prince of Darkness to foreign lands in search of crystalline moments to write, paint, create and sing about the dream we live everyday.
The dream I live with you my dear
,is the one I never want to awake from.

Opiated

Are you so unworldly

to confine your minds

by accepting solitary

sources of statistics.

Would you trust your

health with the first

diagnosis and did you

accept the first quote

for car insurance or

do you go to Tesco™

and not to Aldi or Lidl?

Do you take as gospel

everything RTE or BBC

is telling you about what

happened on October 7th?

Are you so ******* dumb

to believe anything from

Zionist controlled media.

It is my opinion that I am

writing commentaries via

poetry for an audience

of air heads and it is true

what Albert Camus said.

You can’t reason with

          concrete.

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
Way back in the day

And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Or remember our names
Haha!

And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
And chasing a butterfly that we thought was rare
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!

Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the draw
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that age has caught up with us
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun
Back in the day

                            By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Haha!
And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!
Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the gear
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're middle-aged
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and my body's falling to bits
Such fun

                            By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Haha!
And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!
Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the gear
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're middle-aged
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun

                            By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Haha!
And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!
Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the gear
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're middle-aged
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun

                            By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Haha!
And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!
Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the gear
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're middle-aged
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun

                            By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
Way back in the day

And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Or remember our names
Haha!

And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
And chasing a butterfly that we thought was rare
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!

Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the draw
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're age has caught us up
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun
Back in the day

                            By Phil Roberts

Heart attack, home alone,
‘recollected an old vial of sublingual nitro,
and a charged smart phone,
so 911 worked,
{1 free miracle}
helicopter medical rescue team sweeps in,
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”
or was it can you hear me now?
If you say yes you are asked for self identity,

What is your name, what are you doing here?

I laughed and said I thought you would tell me,

if I had a different role to play,
I thought, I think
I did not say that. Not my role. Patient.
Causal inferring prophecy, my role,
mere thought between things.

I am listening to life in me insisting persistance
meets resistence from the nihilist interpretation
of God’s perfecting will being done, hands free.
On me.
What is your name, what are you doing here?
Surviving
and thriving, but it hurts when I laugh.

Pressure pain, fentanyl patch, wow,
again, between each burst of energy directly
to the core OS where a creature of my nature, abides.

Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“Can you hear me now.”

For the mortal equivalent of ever,
so long as you stay wary,
be ready for a gut-relaxation softly un-
comfortable opiated constipation gut shut down,
no gut instruction to resuscitate reason response,
what am I here for?

Gut neurons offline. Guess.

I am surviving old age a while longer.

Witness, AI, my witness, artist’s intuition, mission
accepted, aight. Lighten up
INIT
merry heart doeth good, like a medicine.
Laugh, laugh with little children tied by religious
chains of authority to determine social worth,
Prosperity Gospel
****** poverty
– thought,
– expensive debits and credits,
– markets opened today, with debt attributed to me, which I take as granted, prepaid…
I am a ward of the state, under their laws, I survived my duty as a
Minute Man, late Sixties version, offering my life, as
another, for all our Nathan Hale hero worship worth,
meriting thank you for giving me a job, to me,
the dozens of healthy humans keeping me alive, keep saying,
this is what we live for, and we love our usefullness,
thank you for your service.
Amen, so it seems.

Ah, 11/11, in memorium of veterans…

their attempts
to make up
for the coknowing guilt, I think I asked for this, and chuckle.
These heroes, adrenaline addicts, I betcha, some oxyto-cync
objective being my survival, my salvation, eudaimonia
as it is religiously themed, Rescue from Chaotic Real Life,
bound by,
set terminii
handshake protocol, in the air, 5G.
Real numbers and the laws of physics…
worth a thought, for what a thought’s worth.

Danger, stranger, entertained as a fear of dying,
well, I must say I know death has no lasting sting.

As a person, I am a mental construct of my self,
my emperical presence through out life, first round.
Self as ware.
In the flesh, whether in the spirit or not, objective,
understanding, you know? Comes with wisdom
but you have the role
of getting it, understanding,
with wisdom.
Easy as wu wei.
If I were to die, life would continue,
on trajectory, without my input.
-Meanwhile back in the emergency awareness…
A posteriori responces… this is Teusday.

Was there dread, holy terror?
No, nothing, sleep.
Living truth.
OH, no, what if the believers
in a grudge holding
war god,
met the Daysman called for
when Job back talked
through realiterality’s chain of command..
literatureality.
Right thinking.
Word.
Talking to Wisdom, the divine instituted first thing.
Thing as opposed to no thing, no thought, no idea.
Wisdom, knowledge
and understanding, these three are one, you know…

right? Who sets the definition, coarse or fine grained
reifity, what ifery, immortal musical chairs, take a seat.

I am in opposition to nothingness, being
imaginable as hell,
a prognosis level deeper than hate,
agape, jaw dropt.

I make peace opposing the lying dread,
eternal wrath of your master,
whom you were bred to serve, as bearer of the message.
i- the mathematically real number slam,
the peace past understanding, and say I am
aligned with the initial routine to load the library.

SUBMIT or be destroyed. Is-lam, lamentable bottom line.

Same Idea as articles of faith and divine rights of masters.
Trust and obey, fake the trust, we make you CEO.

Neither war nor greed nor exclusive right to pleasure,
are Truths formed by using evolved group think controls.
Readers.
Whatsoever any two of our kind, bind in covenant,
word use agreement,
shake on it, init after any reboot,
Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”

That

thought is good, minded manners, engrained responces,
Sir, yes, sir, as when fundamental churches invent

gifts of the spirit to poor blind faith ineffectuality, look…
evidence, wordwise in virtue of truth being so,
wisdom is a domain in existence at any point.,
so now’s good.

The gentle, peaceable response,
Turn the other cheek, accept
careless grace,
acknowledge your non causal inference,
all things work,
Thank God the idea,
everything, spirtual entirety in truth,
that is the message called good news
all at once,
to the very outmost edge
of all we may agree is real,
tangible, palpable peace of mind,

art, official, man made peace,
as once one like us in all our ways,
once made up right now,
no worries, mate, we all got here
with no manual,
so we agreed,
together,
make peace where nobody ever tried to…
if we are
to survive the trauma’s past…
as our story’s culture extended
as far as our grasp and reach allow,
in the physical universe, in truth,
in which we each live and breathe
and have our being,
in spirit and in truth, beyond dogma
and religated order from emergent times,
from axial ages, in six cardinal spins, enmeshed.

Engine to operator,
set peruse rate, cost
of minimal attention, familiarity, favorite things,

words, beautiful long idle words, vessles for sense,
senses being tunable with pleasure seeking, or
with pain aversion.

Horse whisperer, or horse master, neither breaks
the spirit of the horse that must perform at peak,
on demand,
at the smell
of the battle, the character some trust, winks,
true rest, compressed is trust, confidentially
living in peace with plenty enough to share.

Life ain’t easy
in any body’s flesh automaton, supremely
subjective light on introspection, shown on

subway walls and tenement halls, and in the
zoo, by an urban son of the Mitzvah,
in the changing times we morpht through,
simultaneously, lifelong muse
in a singer song sung and sung and sung,
brought into existance as a lifeline, orderly path
to the future from the mythological explanations
{history shows you and I crossing a bridge
over troubled water, may be like, a week ago?}
Was that you?
Seekers of holy secrets, come here, and find none,
so? Why.
Yes, nothing in the Kingdom of truth was done
in secret, the sacred is not secret, there is a way,
to take the self exam, to determine, eh, set terminii,
worth of a week at the end, hanging with friends.

Where is the bridge too far, now?
High holy liturgical don’t tell the goyim…
hide the missing box behind the myth,
used to hide the wisdom inherrent
in our conjoined agreement to love each the other,
and take no offense, as brother to brother,
– post analysis, make believe, what is harder:
– war or death? RIP original intent clause.

ah, no, the contestant concept, usefulness test,
all accidental until order is imposed,
as under one aim, as one mind we agree,
to the ******* true filial love demands,
many men love the lie they lived this long under,

how does truth measure rest,
once pressure release valve, pops,
click- flashback same timeline… *** on orders,
FTA when I was 68, I asked the truth itself to tell me,
all the lies I believed about it, and in truth,
by virtue of believing Jesus more than the Bible,

I agreed to study war no more, and lay down
my sword and shield and morph into a peacemaker,

as when we slip into Morpheus’s peaceable gentle…
— I can’t hear your vain repetition

but all the reasons war has instituted,
for it’s just-if-ication,
what if the enemy,
is-
real as Walt Kelly’s Prophecy, Earth Day One-
us, our mediated tic-tok X news feed selection,
make us think the grownups are in charge,
trust your liege, go forth and tell no lie,
broadest river, shallowest stream
of wedom awe, the power we use
in agreemental covenants as when we all saw

everything said to have been class-if-I’d-agnosis,
gnosisnot. From unsneezed idea viruses.

This is Wednesday, Friday, last, I died.
Where’s this going. Peace or war?

Sneeze three times and post it, I said to

self gratify the grave issue of … I said so
Pick a winner, and go back to the first question.

Winning truth, choosing the role of wisdom,
in the social constructs we become, via consumer
character traits learned
from people
we identify with, using likeness
to me, average,
on the spectrum
of usefullness,
under weights and measure constraints, filters
for your disagreeing selfish nature, sorted
on beneficiation, what good can come from this?

One good mental laugh.
Noncarne, chilling raw
declassif-reactating prejudicial preconceptions,
experientially, magi-terminii.
set a value
the people’s prestige,
not the natives inside terminii
agreed to by the proprietor’s religious
privleged position as ordained liege lord.

- pretend I am not a free spirit thought
- truly enjoyable to experience, once more.
Yes, boss, I am a diligent, God-fearing man,
for I was taught any other kind has no worth
in the grand scheme of life and the universe,
standard 42 or optional 64,
wrong time thinking, dimensionally
accepted consensus in agreement for
prophetically time bound riddle reveals
with Hebrew cogitations on holding truth
within riddle
LORD, who shall abide in thy tabernacle?
who shall dwell in thy holy hill?
….

Conspicuous acts of kindness, Elon suggested
that Israel do. I agree, war is unreasonable.
No ancient lie about hatred’s value for building
heros who regret having but one life,
to give for the story that is their country.

You are an addiction,
a bit funny kind of addiction.

Not that type of lingering smoke
by the pack of cigarettes or
the high of a single hit

Not that type of an opiated mind
of maze-like thoughts
discarded cans of buzzing minds

I will try and try to verbalize these thoughts
but I'm a coward
so I keep them inside the confines of my head

So I tell no one, i am eaten by these
by this one thought
this kind of funny addiction

when times are good, I wait
for it to knock on my doors
windows, basement opening

from everywhere. And it wins
like a God, I am nothing.
Too bad, this isn't God.

The secret, this addiction
the rush of blood out my veins
I try not to let it win

but from the start it already won,
my thoughts are its *****, on my wrists
stamping each of them with a label

"die"

https://newrepublic.com/post/178321/watch-trump-missile-defense-ding-ding-ding-boom-whoosh
From the trump an uncertain sound,
a dash of madness all around,

take a little trip, but don't, don't imagine a world led by Trump
supporters who heard no uncertain sound, ding ding boom whoosh


On a scaled bell curve
from vague déjà vu to aha,

how does it feel to be asked to explain
your self warierness, knowing now Sydney
can happen, therefore, as with wherefores,
we must assume we make good on our promise,

good, the precept second to wisdom nullifying
the fear that no balanced being rolled on
in ever after each positive met its neg face to face,

pfft, that's it last time, chaos can't even be imagined,

saved in truly ancient seafoam stone, witnesses
to pacts still sticky to this days, for those in those knowns,

we imagine our attention bubble swells and pops,
and stops,
for an immeasurable period, dot, in time past, as reflection
spreading in the frequency each emanates, in sunshine
during the day time and electrically released unstickiness,

evaporative we, gaseous wedoms, as the space lacing clouds,

foam along the shore,
children finding shining things and treasuring each,
an instant few old folks live long enough
with open minds
to see that instance
of both knowing, wordless child minds
meet where the pattern
of so many beautiful spins, prove phi
solves problems pi can't imagine, umphing

being maybeing, as planned parenthood seems sound advice,
judgement begins inside your knower,
judge your own self, the one you sold to no other, you
be the only heir to all the truth you ever knew you knew,

you had been guiled, given guile
to see the leverage
in knowing, symbols enfolding instructions
to model in mortal perceptible graphic mappings

any thing, we may imagine and communicate,
we can do, may we, is upto you, your may makes
next seem
worth exploring fearlessly bold as warier than earlier
carries with it no hell to fear as possible, the attempts

to realify and profess such a good god made thing,
resulted in the currently common hormone suppressants.

One cannot hold Hell gut level true and survive the fear
such madness unleashes in laws to contain the misled minds.

Reject the chance to learn a new way of making thoughts
realizations, or
tune in, same clear text signal since texting
became the long term Turing test, which mind am I,

after following several suicides over that same jagged edge,
but with survivor kid goat-sense and higher res eyes,
a mantra from my grand pa, he sing yo ** so, say

there, from here, there is always a place to put your foot,
keep your balance,
hold your soul self, your own self we said in my clan,
hold your self to set path, or call that self the liar,
and turn around

the idea behind repentance, nothing to pay, something
to do, warier by outperience, having been imagining
running down the edge of the cliff on hind's feet,
something like this entire circumstance involving instances
in prayer,
clumping, lumping likes into wee tiny aweformers, twists
to the I in us all, we wish to be the celebrity, what's

the attraction factor, why do some mindstates demand
the murky opiated optional dream timing ding ding boom whoosh

From the trump an uncertain sound,
a dash of madness all around,

take a little trip, but don't, don't imagine a world led by Trump
supporters who heard no uncertain sound, ding ding boom whoosh

You pour the waters
Of magical delight
Drowning each drops of eerie tears
Tears of rolled melancholy desired

Your heart a chamber of venom
Each beat boiling its toil
As the days of hardship pass
Each day does a drop add
And its pain drains
Into your arctic veins

But then the water you gush
Down your guts does it flush
Reaching in through porous ways
In through the murderous veins
To your heart it rolls
The venoms doth droll
Into sweet streams toll

Yet the liquid slurps
Into your intellect it burps
Fills your thoughtly hollows
While your vision obscures
To phantom like raze
And you squander your curb
As equally does the herb

You wander in dare
Till the heavens appear
Where the cherubs stuffed rare

And you reach the accord
Of luscious delight
While your enclosing lights

But then you turn
Back to shallow do your run
In mirror of opiated burn
And while you encumber
Your torso guns to slumber
Awaiting ticks of number

As if opiated,
something impossible, I was
asking from you.

I was very angry
with me, carrying the unborn-
baby-dreams, in my arms,
and leaving you behind- flawless.

Learning against the past,
I would commit the old fixation
in my sight, to clasp
your sweaty hand for a while.

And under the April moon
you were walking,
scattering the rose petals-
on the way to a shrine.

Do prayers heal a man
who preemptively
went for the assault?

I was, what I am not.

i write my poems with a torn tongue
of Freudian slips
in dark rooms of naughty language
that stick like fly paper on trespassing filigree wings of contagion  
where i remember the whole history of poetry
like a pageant of painted bride runway models
which i have culled
from the of blood of recognition

                                    blackout

a ghost from the underworld
i awaken to life in ecstatic perception
below shimmering celestial equators in a world of endless war
booming noise and scenic fruited braids of blurring tears
as enemies try to fill each others bodies
with spores and yardage of bladed body parts
in riddles of flesh
towards eternity as obsession becomes horror in an empire of rage

                                your gonna get such a slap

where justice and power forever suffocate each other
in a phantasmatic struggle both born to intermittent death and renewal in some contra parallel juncture of back and forth
where burning floors
thresholds of disaster
sprinkle embered words from hinterlands of excrement
giving birth to sagging hearts
and broken brains vignette on skeletons of wire and shining eyes
staring    staring    staring
through muffled pinhole pupils
staring black

                                eyeballs whistle

thank God i'm ****** again
and driving the white car in a crescendo of halos
slinged back fantasizing mythological ***** dreamgirls
and the food they cook in their wet *****
of melodious love and bedroom splits

                             Venus gone mad

and then i turn to puff smoke poem jazz
singing with opiated mouths
grinning red Beetle teeth
while driving through immortal clouds
of wish bone shaped pole dancers
with burning button hole eyes
spinning in horizontal love and death
blue pineapple aspic rhapsodies


                                *i'm your ******* daddy

During the ice age, our ancestors
were told to light more fires, burn
down the forests and leave their
cars idling at the traffic lights.

But none of that worked, because
it was evolution, a historical pattern,
like extinction, nobody lamented
brontosaurus rex or the Irish snakes.

Women are being used by the stage
managers, Mother Theresa was an
example, now it is Greta Thunberg,
the masses are once again opiated.

Power or money never changes hands
(not even in France after 1789). Who said,
" By moving one decimal point I could put
the status of women back to the middle ages ".

Citation needed.

©  ©

               Sit if you will for a period
                 long enough in front of
              anything that moves within
               the confines of the optical
               focus and the retina will be
              hypnotised by an illusionary
                mirage which can only be
            processed by the subconscious.

                           For example.

           We have all seen those beautifully
         fashioned spider webs in the Autumn
      which are suspended between branches
       and covered in dewy droplets of nights
                             inactivity.

         De misted, these intricate strands of
           communication offer no obstacle to
           a vigilant observer, but if one were
           to follow the construction of those
          anode and cathode linear lines ,as
      do the opiated audiences who succumb
    to a nighty dose of massaged manipulation,
     then you suffer from snared vision and will
no doubt not even understand what this is about
because you have the mental capacity of a wet fly.

Since the crusades, the west

has never ceased in its quest

to subdue and destroy Arab

influence in the world. After

successive centuries of war

colonisation and exploitation

the concept of a loyal Ulster

in the Proche Orient became

a reality with the agreement

with Balfour and Rotschilds.

Israel was born, pulled out

of the magicians hat in full

view of the world. It was to

become an Anglo American

bulwark strategically situated

with coastal port access for

easy access to deliver the

arsenal necessary for USA

to store for future conflicts.

The plan failed, Arab began

to train and organise forces

using guerrilla tactics which

The Hamas leader is quoted

as saying that The Irish never

conceded, nor will we. So, as

the military option will never

work, the west has invented

Global Warming as a means

to shut down the Arab World.

The opiated masses of MSM

have taken on this fabricated

fictitious farce as fact. Don’t

be duped like you were with

covid and the other fairytales.

In the USA, R.E.M. is

A condition, not solely the
prerogative of blond females.

Neither, is it to be confused with,
an ocular, nocturnal, condition.

R.E.M. is, in fact, the subliminal
Removal of Essential Memory.

The Grand Canyon, is America's
cerebrum, of the metaphorical

Deep State of the opiated masses.

Not to be confused with
altruism by the make news
people who have a vested
interest in the evolution
of delusion such as is now
being snorted by the opiated
through the anode & cathode
tubes on a nightly basis in
preparation for yet another
Libya style coup in Venezuela.

I have suffered from Insomnia
all of my life, walking around
aimlessly in soft shoes lest I
disturb the rest of the house
where the peeping dogs lie.

Nowadays there appears to be
a quick fix to almost any ailment,
yet, nodding off until recently
has not been included in treatment.

But that has all changed since
Prince Andrew's discovery 18 years
ago when he had a Pizza Express
in Woking.

Immediately, it was as if he became an
Anglo Saxon version of Rip Van Winkle,
a state of opiated amnesia overcame him,
transported from reality into omissiveness.

A hypnosis became him, everything
before and after March 10th 2001 was
instantly deleted from his mind.

Pizzzzzzzzza Express in Woking is the
ultimate sleep inducer and is now on NHS
as a cure all for those afflicted with Insomnia.