She is equipped with sensitive *******
and those other secret places
that ladies give out as prizes
to deserving guys as long as
they adopt the right disguises
of gods, gurus, intellectual giants,
goats, children, father figures, macho brutes,
sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels,
house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects,
handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems,
sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types
who can also pay the bills,
tall dark and handsome total strangers,
toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires,
wood choppers, ******* removers,
bottomless reservoirs of reassurance
or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right.
In fact, anything but woffly wimps.
Oh God, no.  Anything but woffly wimps.
Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS,
you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys
who won’t face-shift for a ****?
Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now.
I think that the woman is dripping
with a brimming reservoir
of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for  
the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope  
of swirling dreams and desires,
which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent.
Although please don't be confused.
Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome,
aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio,
who are students, who appear to be intellectuals,
who are not nerds,
and who can **** it in the kitchen, who  can be oh, so cool,
who can convince a maiden that she is in distress,
and is in need of rescuing, while he has
a swaggering hard-on will do, too.
Oooh. You devil.
And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic,
well, I’ve been around and by now, well,
I really should be panoptic
because I’ve seen all the fads,
and really, it’s sadly too bad
about those poor old
earnest SNAGS.
But you know what?
I don't think I understand anything, because
I'm really a victim of worshiping women.
I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and
yes,
I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.

At spawn of first light
Darkness embarks into the recesses of hibernation
And so begins the blinding incline,
the inevitable blonde coiled wreaths frustration is on the rise
forces a discharge so multiple and emanate,
the skyward black shrinks back
from panoptic reaches,
into a delinquent weakened rumor

When this daily task of ridding the black ends a victor
The climb continues upward in a high sky setting
Consequential over the mornings painstaking labors
Wiping from his brow,
in a waving motion
To release mists over global hydration

By welcoming this morning dew,
the earth is one more day new
and can take great relief in this rebirth
Assuring all parched famine will gain resolve
taking in their absolve

The gods let this baby be born
As a thing they could reclaim
One day with cruel delay
Boils from black plague desecrated her skin
Right before her second birthday
A lesson on how a life can be stolen
Shortly after it begins
Or how we're without hope to the whims
Of the bored gods before us

To save the last of his kin
The father implored the science
Of the village sage and physicians
He was turned down at every door
Their medicine was not meant
To save the poor nor destitute
  
Resolute in his faith
there were good gods who gave grace
Unto children without sin
He next beseeched healing power
from varied institutions of the miracle men
Preyed over by priests, rabbis, and sheikhs
He sacrificed and spent
every cent he had saved
And their churches took his tithes
But did not take her pain away

Grief striken, defeated, with no recourse
Liquid sedated in a pub,he feels remorse
" our child will join you soon,
my dearest departed wife"
a pubhand overhears him saying,
"you can still save your daughter's life!"

"listen as I entail
The hidden trail you must trek
before the antelucan hour strikes
Her magiks are only ripe
in the dead of the night
Nestled within that loury forest
Her cabin obscured from mortal sight
Resides an occultist of such cunning:
A bog witch named Blight"

The pubhand helped him to more mead for free
Unprompted he then proceeds to lead
The father through that place he now seeks
-claiming his shift had come to an end
As they drew closer to the cabin
Something happened most curious and queer
The pubhand turned into a black cat,
Scurried off into the brush- to dissappear

Influenced by fermented spirits in his blood
He pays heed to their whisper
-Her cabin door is ajar
And they beckon he enter

Now in Blight's place of power with his offspring.

"oh hapless father when you sing,
How the gods do smile
You worshipped the very ones
who wish to **** your only child
they're vile and malcontent
All they know are delinquent tendencies
They'll torture her spirit for sport,
When she dies you see
But by my incantation
That needn't come be"

"drain the blood of a bat
with deviant intent
Recant the name of your gods;
You now resent  
The blood will brew all the while
-in my elixir
When the little girl drinks:
it will fix her
It will turn her pale white
You will fear she has perished
She will stalk this earth
Forever parched with ravenous thirst
And a stark aversion to sunlight
NOW YOU MUST CHOOSE:
A dead child!
...or a creature of the night?"

The father did as directed
He did not second guess
Unaware of the sorceresses subtle gesticulations
-Were creating a hex
He's blind to machinations set in motion long ago
The wiccan pours her will into a binding circle
As the child drinks the concoction slow

His daughter's vitality returns
The plague is receding
Fangs sprang forth
as she bites into her father's neck
Blood trickles down in specks
The girl keeps feeding
And feeding

all gods once assembled to fight Blight
The powerful mad goddess would direct
her sadistic debauchery at their human subjects
-human praise appealed to the god's vanity-
Her godhood sealed by the Parthenon
in a prison comprised of flesh
Divinity bound;
betrayed by other gods
There were too many for her to resist
A former god trapped in mortal form
Blight's punishment was to simply exist

For 300 years Blight had waited for a night like this
An ancient curse she could wield
As revenge for imprisonment
Finally obtaining the last two ingredients:
A child that was pure
And a father's consent

A direct strike of lightning sets Blight's cabin ablaze  
still in her binding circle, she's indifferent
And unphased
From threats of fearful deities who see
She's about to set her nocturnal creations free
Undeterred by their show of force
she releases her two vamps
with a flick of her wrist and no remorse

Iightning strikes within an inch of Blight
She leers at the heavens
Much defiance and mirth
In the distance a village screams
As her fiends burn it down to the dirt

The Parthenon replies:
Bellowing cumulonimbus clouds
decries her decision
Such chaos;
now her scheming REALLY has their attention
The.Ones.Who.Watch. Above

See all.

Throughout panoptic thrones they peer
pained fury for this village culling:
Blight jeers
Sanctimonius thunderstorm brings fervent rain
Their vain,pious tears-
The skies can not contain

The gods cry.

"Oh, how i wonder what will worship gods then,
When humanity dies?"

Luminous surges of lightning bolts strike
Tries to smite this emboldened bog witch
...Yet, in spite of their wish,
she somehow stays unhurt...

Blight smirks.

I love to have this vision
Of my shadow watching me
Like beauty from a sad
Bitter place
Life shines through black wax
Voiding all meaning
But love and death

No trees around,
But there are leaves in the gutter
A thousand eyes in every home
& in every eye there is a storm
A Panoptic Design
Prison planet
Web net
Spider eyes glow red
Multi-layered
Multi-players
Virtual seams rip apart every dream
Virtual screams on virtual screens
Blood & circuses
Hive mind & mob body
In every crack there is a hole
& in every hole there is an eye
In every eye there is a storm
Your streets, the sky-not blind
A thousand eyes
A thousand eyes for every home
Digital trap. Don’t fight back
We wake to dream
We fight the sleep
Is there something we are missing?
5- You are alive
4-Go thru the door
3-What is your reality, really?
2-Yes, I’m talking to you!
1- Look up

Don’t look behind.
We are being followed.
Do you follow?
Do you mind?

There are no words for how you make me feel -
Not wholly happy nor is it all sad.
So Orphic, how do I know that you're real?
This ambivalence is driving me mad.
The hypophrenic habromania!
I can't define the sense that you inspire.
So I experience metanoia,
To feed my chaotic internal fire.
Panoptic, I see you entirely
And I'm entranced by everything in view
The shadow of your soul reflects in me
And beckons me to move nearer to you.
      No Epeolatry can spare my soul.
      This gap in lexicon engulfs me whole.

Where did they hide a punch clock in the timeless solace?

Or did they hide it all?

Perhaps it’s difficult to see some mornings?

We walked together to the school bus-stop, Billie Jean and I,

…she seemed to have a thing for me although I don’t know why?

I had a birth deformity; my feet were horned like snakes,

…a scaly-green monstrosity that locked away my heart and mind,

…so that; like the time clock, no one would ever see me.

Even the trip to doctors in Thebes, it only made it worse,

...all the children in my town found out, and said that I was cursed,

An ancient Greek named Urias claimed;

That tranquil purple’s peaceful dawn had hid a pitcher of lies,

And Zeus’ anger at the act brought down lightning from the skies,

…and struck down the people just like me against a ballad of rainbow fusion sunrise.

For the dreamy cosmos exercises as the pantomime he realizes,

…the many fancies of his disguises that the panoptic mind has in its surmises,

And in their parrying fall the distended fragments of the egg,

…formed some like me who were formed quite queer, said to come from Apulian’s nightly fall of fear.

Glass-bottled visions of events not clear all framed in a circle of Plato’s Great Year.

My feet the scaly-green monstrosity which sealed my heart and mind,

Billie said it was a gift from that Great Old Father Time,

A spring of rocks, a great mountain, a whirlpool and a navel,

I guess one day I’ll become them all, if and when I’m able!

From the esoteric Asia
to the wild Amazon,
I feel my spirit standing still
while life is rushing on
Kaleidoscope of countries
melting in my dreamy eyes
For now I sit and wonder
at the blue panoptic skies

i arrive
fragmentary trajectories
polyvocal mass

burning assemblage of resentment
walking to the kitchen to grab an apple
leave me alone

i lock the door
i eat my apple
i feel no guilt

panoptic father
you know

we tried
with the counter
the indexical signs of worth
the grade average
you let fall

three years is too long
to watch the same *******
repeat
to provide multiple outs
you didn’t want
except the one who was
never enough

i’m done with feeling
anything.

Understanding depth
light and dark tandem opposed
Panoptic balance