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This is something I have been contemplating ever since I have stumbled upon the concept. I think that non-duality has been the natural progression of consciousness as I have gained access to realms of a diminished ego. To me, it is almost the ultimate mindset, for it allows for constant harmony even in the light of dissonance.
It completely explodes in radiant and uncharted landscapes of thought as it bypasses almost every culturally imposed limit on the mind, or at least in terms of thought constructs.
For now it is possible to contradict the ego, to explore the impossibilities of paradoxes
Now it is feasible to empathize with every consciousness.
Now, we can think any thought that we could ever think with holistic faith.
Now, we are free to use our minds as a medium for direct art.
Our creativity is now unleashed into the constructs of reality.
And there is no commitment.
We can go back on anything, we can constantly disagree with ourself, or even more useful, we can understand how to agree with every perspective put before us.
We can be full of ego and free from it simultaneously.
We can employ it whenever we want, straying from it and returning only when appropriate.
Truth has morphed into formlessness, as the limits of truth are now defined by the limits of creativity.
Logic is now a laughable barrier as we fly past it into liberating clouds and strata of uninhibited experience and emotion, only to return back to find logic in tact and waiting for us with infinite patience.
Non-duality
Coincidentia Oppositorum
Enantiodromia
It seems to me that nature selects not for brute strength, or *******, or parasitism; but rather, it selects for the most adaptable.
We are a species who has all but ceased biological adaptation,
all that remains is cognitive adaptation.




Also, this is all a false-hood. I am lying to you. This is not truth.
If psychedelics have taught me anything, it is the ignorant recklessness of being which invigorates me to the point of action. Impulses which are not thoughts before they are manifested.
The naive desire to reject all which bounds and limits you.
NO!
WE ARE BEAUTIFUL AND WE LOVE YOU AND NOW WE WILL **** YOU TO FEED A PACK OF WILD PIGS.
WE WILL SETTLE FOR NOTHING LESS THAN UTOPIA!
WE WILL MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES AS EVERYBODY IN HISTORY! BUT THE JOKE IS ON THEM, FOR IT IS NOT THE SAME. FOR WE ARE NOT THEM. THEY ARE ALREADY MAKING THAT MISTAKE AGAIN RIGHT NOW!
WE WILL IMPROVISE RITUAL MAGIC AND CONJURE IMAGINARY SCOUTS ON HORSEBACK JUST TO HELP US EXPLORE THE UNTAINTED EXUBERANCE OF CHILDHOOD!
WE WILL NEVER SLEEP, FOR WE PREFER TO DREAM AWAKE
AND WE WILL ONLY STOP DREAMING ONCE WE FAKE BEING AWAKE
I HATE WISDOM
I PREFER IGNORANCE AND DELUSION
I WANT TO BATHE IN THE ETERNITY OF SHIZOID PARABLES
I WANT TO LICK THE VENOM FROM THE STAGNANT HEARTS OF CYNICS
FOR WE WILL NEVER GROW OLD, OR STALE
AND WE WILL NEVER DIE
FOR WE PREFER THE WISDOM OF NOVELTY
AND AWAKE TO FIND OURSELVES IMMORTAL
Waverly Dec 2011
This is the beat
for the future.

Slow.

Continuous.

Quick in paces.
Slow in the right
places.

The bassline of the future
should be love.

Let's make it as slow and continuous as our ideals have said it would be.

In the last moments
of the world
let every man kiss every man
every woman kiss every woman
every love see love.

Fuhreal,
let's take love
to a whole new level.

Let's make it so beautiful
that we stop killing cockroaches
and poaching
the god's green broaches of branches
full of howler monkeys
howling for conservation against the parasitism
that man has become accustomed to.
Pearson Bolt Feb 2016
it was an inevitability
that we'd unearth the evidence
to validate Einstein's theory
of general relativity.

three cheers for the
method of science,
an appliance that
liberates and enlightens,
suffocating the miasma
of dogmatic parasitism.

pariahs can't stand beneath
the weight of empirical data.
a culture of imperialism
intoxicating inane idiots,
inundated by asinine philosophy.

ideologues instigating turmoil—
vainly believing
an intergalactic being
created the cosmos
in seven days for the
predestined elect.

to insist inanely that the legacy
of our existence could be measured
in seven millennia
is to extinguish the light
from the majority
of our neighboring galaxies.

you read the opening lines
of your holy text too literally.
open your mind to the poetry
of a reality that no deity
could ever breathe into existence.

we are not special.
our fate is tied to a
planet choking on CO2
and you deny the truth
in the same breath you
disparage any challenge
to your impotent,
imaginary friend.

**** sapiens—
mere animals
cursed with
conscience.

if you would deny
the ancestral history
of our evolutionary biology
simply on the premise
that it's “only a theory,”
then i'd invite you to put
your vain hypothesis
to the test and take a long walk
off a short bridge.
perhaps the theory of gravity
will provide with you some clarity.
Scientists recently proved Einstein's theory of General Relativity. This poem celebrates the scientific method.
WickedHope Oct 2021
I think my addictions are addicted to me.
It's a mutual symbiotic parasitism.
I've taken up drinking,
hoping that will push them away.
But it's like lighting a fire
and trying to put it out with gasoline.
And God I'm soaked.

I want to cut it out.
Gunpowder is better than gasoline, right?
hannah Nov 2015
bruise her and she will blossom
lilacs
***** greens
rotten apple browns
touch him and you will rot
fungi on your fingers
brittle nails
decaying flesh
RMatheson Apr 2011
Hypnotized by your blank kaleidescope
caress you like a Kwashiorkor belly
rotund
smooth and round abdomen, empty and
covered with flies
an allegiance to parasitism,
supported by the skeletal mass
too thin to pull the body along,
ground-glass ground
ochre earth,
away from the feathered death
stepping lively behind you
hooks pierce the sand,
soon your meat.

you scream at me
with colic voice
cut you open
I have no choice
Gods1son Oct 2019
Mutual respect is the foundation
of any relationship
Understanding, trust and forbearance
are its building blocks
Any relationship should be beneficial
to all the parties involved
But if a party keeps taking advantage
of the other(s), that's parasitism
I will rather be alone than
being in a toxic relationship
Take that bold step to break free
from being a victim of parasitism
Cut loose, create room,
look within, set limits
before being a part of
any form of partnership.
erin walts Apr 2016
If Earth could speak
Would it believe
The relationship with the human race is
Parasitism

If Earth could speak
Would it say
It is suffering
Dying

If Earth could speak
Would it ask
For help

Are humans a burden to the Earth
Or is the Earth a burden to humans

Destruction is needed for creation
Or is there something much bigger at play?

Bigger than sea, space, and partnerships

The earth speaks
The universe speaks


Human consciousness


Be kind to Earth
But never undermine existence
Andrew Guzaldo c Feb 2018
"Our task is to show that however,
Wonderful things may appear,
In today’s World and lifestyle,
They may not be all that great,

Even the darkest night will end,
And the sun will rise regardless,
Our optimism changes to pessimism,
Roses that may grow on a stone,

Not in the earth as optimism has shown,
Love can exist or it can turn parasitism,
It’s wrong to believe that all will be optimistic,
That parasitism will continue to exist,

Oceans feel the love the upsurge bares,
The stones of the rock will bear a flower,
Rain will fall and so kisses the flower,
Will endure there growth of optimism,

Solitude will bring a cumbersome heart,
Depression will remain in a semblance,
New destiny will precede the pessimism,
As loves fate arrives pessimism succumbs,
To an optimistic aspect until ones last breath"

By AG 2/2018
Steve D'Beard Mar 2014
I scramble around a petrol token mug
purporting to be an ash tray stained in neglect
needling between ash and cigarette butts
looking for some spent tobacco to recycle
and breathe in the cancerous smoke of belonging.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
"I am strong when you are feeble", he said.

The doctor twiddles his fountain pen
a parting gift from his late father
held with the poise of grace
and wielded like a lance
the pen can do many things for he and I
prescribe or chastise
the freedom with solitude
and the four white walls
of limiting restraint.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
"We are symbiotic you and I", he said.

I wonder though is it:
Mutualistic
Commensalism
Parasitism or
Neutralism -
Who benefits who?

Do we bathe in each others glory
holding hands in the lost age of reason
comfort in the loneliness of winter
or just a dream of the endless
a figment of the imagination
and the passing of time
looking out of frosted windows.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
"I lead you in the dark, I am your light", he said.

I sometimes step back into the gloom
He fills my capillaries
clogging up my arteries
with his dark and mischievous veins
calling out to faceless strangers
walking past in the haze
the ones the others do not see
just out of line of sight
mottled and disfigured and blurred.

"Have another drink on me", he said.

I am distracted by the minute
leading this shabby existence
and the opening of unpaid bills
and the carnage of last weeks washing
and the bottles of empty beer discarded
like a tramps ***** in the drying sun
monuments to a day before when we were younger
and wrestled in the long grass of salvation
and the long summer days of liberal libation.

"I am the one and only constant you will ever have", he said.

Without him I will be hollow
like a rotten tree trunk
gashed in initials of love letters
with a pen knife
saturated in the remains
of fortified wine bottles
and leaf litter molding
in the dying frost of spring.

"Just don't ever talk about me", he said.
Just don't ever talk about us, is what he meant.
In the spring of 331 BC C., Alexander the Great left Egypt returning to the port of Tire, where his fleet was. From there he went to Antioch, crossing the valley of the Orontes River, and reached the Euphrates River at the height of Tapsaco, where he founded the city of Nicephorus to be a stronghold and storehouse for army supplies. Here he learned that Darío was in Arbelas, so he crossed the Tigris and headed north along the eastern bank of the river.

The sibyl Cumana was at level 97 of the wind tunnel when listening to these waves, very close to the doline karst, in avidity of Pythia Delfica with divinatory proselytes that crossed folds of her attire, in pleats of a brain divinatory flock. His Cumana relativity was spent on the mausoleum, prophesying life for all in the passion of living together with the bodies abandoned by the souls of the Devotee, and in the innocence of the soul that slips away, daunted by not being desolate, amidst the parchment of Lilith, and in the offerings of the Strigoi, for breaches of troubling visions of darkness from the cavern of Chauvet, by sacrificing competing sense-emotions of Lilith's malefic Votum. Only one can exist as an inviolable part of chaste Wonthelimar tradition, groping the Xifos with human sheepskins, tectonic offerings, and fringing the altitude 103 of the Strigoi wind tunnel.

Vlad Strigoi Sings: “Mardiath, noble and loyal hussar of the Vernarth Sea, Chief of the Gulf fleets, came from the deck when he turned around the bowsprit; he was picked up and hit by ropes in parasitism, which shone like strays. Oars of gods in supplications that were felt in the whistles of the wind. He approaches and descends dark staircases in the direction of the water piston, whose heresy in a Vladiana ship was pending. “When I train myself to write by saying who I am or what I am, I only receive massive abscesses Saecula Saeculorum, not finding the basis to confess. They say they do not know what to reveal because there is no content that compares to someone who does not have Age, Life, or Compassion, that I only have to communicate as a Strigoi messenger?. Now I know that no one will sing my thoughts, there is no ink that dares smear a comparable calamus that resists my word of Strigoi ammonia, usurped from a Balinger ship to some Flemish pirates, seconded to the side by a Panescalm barge, which shot 64 thousand bodies massacred from the Bubonic Plague.

Mardiath graduates from the Ballinger and leaves his sword to Vlad next to a geographical table to rediscover destiny in a maiden who attends to his disorders, more than a ganglion suppurating prostration. He goes back to Tire to meet Vernarth, and his henchmen to finally head to the wild fields of Gaugamela "

Chthonic Prehensiles referred to the gods or telluric spirits of the tectonic underworld, as opposed to celestial deities, appearing in the tubular ascension of warm wind, which crowned the consecration, and those who were above waiting for them. Oblations of light illuminated particles of woodworm that were suspended, expelling those that were magnetized from the phosphorescent matter. The disjointed syntax became periodic in the words of Strigoi, from the Capite Velato or veiled head from the Strigoi Ballinger who managed to reposition him. In double increase of sap, it made him less to resist his life and his closeness, lying minimally before Wonthelimar, and Mardiath who filled him with the company in the eyebolt that supports the path of his sullen life.

Sings Mardiath: “Vernarth's troops would depart from Tire where his fleet was, which came from Sudpichi, from the Horcondising Empire. Legend has it that in the heights of the Gulf, when his army was sailing, a mysterious tempest of hot air from Hormuz broke out on his squads, at height 665 miles from Um Kasar, they had found a ship from present-day Romania. When they spotted them and intervened inside this frigid ship, there was nothing ... just creaking masts and their main yard that was spurring, presenting palisade curtains that came from Sighisoara / Transylvania; where the very similar Vlad Tepes was sitting behind a captain's room writing on his desk. Every so often he would take out a handkerchief to dry his ****** nose, like a pinch of gelatinous ink, shady and stained”

Isaías sings: “The presence in the corresponding versed folio makes relative the prophecy of Immanuel born of a ******, who is associated with a similar Virgilian prophecy of Cumana, justifying its prophetic symbolism. Here is the admonition that blackens the skies where the light retracts, thousands are chained during the announcement of a thousandth that climbs abysses like the fateful Strigoi, and only tribulated pasture will have to transplant rebellions, which lie asleep for the awakening of the ideal of incipient spiritual ******* dressed in execration. Has the conflagration of the heart that resists death been unleashed and that agonizes several times in the ...? The conditions wait for the apostates to refuse the water that does not make them optimal, and makes the radius of obedience of the Vernarthian heart elliptical, full of granules of Physconia lumpy, whose frequency encysts in the bodies of treacherous, kingdoms and fungal lineages. The reign of the saints will judge plurality on the thrones with devastation in the fatuous beatifications in Pergamum, already admonished by me.
Codex VI - Strigoi Asthenosphere
ECKate Feb 2015
i'm dropping pin needles on ice
each ting stabs at my own fragile heart,
my ego
it's living, really, there is something alive inside of my throat
it thrusts and kicks like a baby in a womb

i tell myself i need this creature; the parasitism.
least i can do is house misery in hopes some life emerges.

© 2015 Kate Volk
Matilda Alice Oct 2017
You never know
The deafening crush
Of silence until it's right in front of you
Unblinking and unmoving
Gathering your soul and
Scattering it like dust on the
Dirt covered ground
Laughing at your misery
Jeering with hollow lips
Pitted eyes seeming to
Peer into your deepest crevice
The silence is crushing
Eardrums are shattering
Erie chills creep up your
Spine at a deathly pace
The noxious air slipping
Into your lungs at
Suffocating speeds
Marching over your heart
Like soldiers in the regime
Until it becomes a part of you
Never being able to differentiate
Between what is you and
What is it
Corporeal and incorporeal
Bodies twine as one the two combine
In a sickly manner
The relationship that of parasitism
Taking years to remove the parasite called
Silence
Medication helping the bonds to break
Shatter and loosen
The death grip it can have
Don't underestimate the power and effect
Silence will have
Sometimes Starr May 2017
To tell a terminal lamb
About the appeal of a trial.

To speak to the host and holy ghost
of rapacious parasitism
about faith in a God symbiotic.

The elusive cavity of your heart!

These worlds I trespass on, I feel
as though I should be there

Know that

But empathy is the harbinger of heaven and hell!
Some to whom we bear hard-shelled witness
Some seem to light a fire in our blood.

All in transient form.

It's all worth a Try, if you're into that sort of thing.
what do you consider a Try?
Trevor Blevins May 2016
What better time to admire the rapid bloom of countless species of flowers I cannot match a name to...

And a few that I can,

But the same land which facilitates our growth has sectioned each plot to keep me away from the plants to which I'd harm.

There's no melody behind parasitism and this pollen isn't treating any of us well anyway,

Yet beauty is so timeless,
So radiant—
Too many questions for the roots that hold you steady.
Satsih Verma Jan 2017
Half acting you take
the broom for the journey
of doom.

In human odor, you find
a secret sin. In stampede
you may walk on the fallen bodies.

Between me and my, you
stand squeezing the lines
in holy script. There was no dogma.

Your image overwhelms
the prayers, insulting the
future of man.

Like amber encased,
parasitism, comes alive
with mass execution.
Andrew Guzaldo c Feb 2021
"Our task is to show that however,
Wonderful things may appear,
In today’s World and lifestyle,
They may not be all that great,

Even the darkest night will end,
And the sun will rise regardless,
Our optimism changes to pessimism,
Roses that may grow on a stone,

Not in the earth as optimism has shown,
Love can exist or it can turn parasitism,
It’s wrong to believe that all will be utopian,
That parasitism will continue to exist,

Oceans feel the love the upsurge bares,
The stones of the rock will bear a flower,
Rain will fall and so kisses the flower,
Will endure there growth of optimism,

Solitude will bring a cumbersome heart,
Depression will remain in a semblance,
New destiny will precede the pessimism,
As loves fate arrives pessimism succumbs,
To an optimistic aspect until ones last breath"

By AGuzaldo 2/2018 ©   #198
By Andrew Guzaldo 2/2018 ©  HP Poem #198
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
i drink from a glass, that has a star of anise embedded in crystal at the bottom... suddenly having to bleach all biology, pursue it to a closure of the asylum... decipher the croak of a crow, or expect to hear that gurgling creed once perched on a tree... and then come across an event of failed abstraction in the realm of grammar... my... i hope this **** doesn't escape the anglophone world.

for me, appreciating music had to morph,
morph: rather than evolve...
    once i discovered that the orchestra
conductor is: the person of rhythm,
or rather: punctuation marks
      with a backdrop of a perpetuated
static of an audience...
                                rhythm boy, rhythm!
the weirdest form of dance imaginable -
never in a discioteque
        or the other *situ
of congregation;
as ever: the technicality of language
weaves a breath...
                        a case for hephaestus;
never mind that...
                lately i can only fathom
two forms of horror,
       the ordinary and the romanced...
for example: having to interchange
listening to
              penta - come in,
and lacey lynn's video
       titled critical condition,
                   goodbye and goodluck
...
because would you ever call
a cat, a stray?
          embedded "grafitti* as a presence
in a graveyard...
                   while the Sochi strays...
        no point killing it:
                 if you're not going to eat it.
or as they say in the west:
   when we do media,
    we expect the entire world to listen...
   yet no one talks about
            the ****** union of
Russia and China...
                        i can clearly remember
feeding a mosquito to a cat,
   as i remember feeding a cat
                                a fish eye;
modern language needs a sadism -
                    an army styled rigour...
            we say that people
    are literate...
                              but a contract's
worth of ambivalence...
               to say nuance is an invisibility
cloak?
                    might as well call forth
the men of Salem...
                  and say a chess board
          is a parallelogram...
           coined the phrase (s)he who said:
"think outside a box" -
    or he who replied: geometry is a vanity
project? no problem...
                     think outside a home.      
i still prefer to think of parasitism
        as a form of symbiosis -
         instead of obesity surgeries...
      how about ingesting a tape worm?  
or as one doctor said of the child:
   autistic...
    or as one father (philosopher) said
          of the same child: solipsist.
Rebecca Feb 2020
I regret meeting you.
Showing you the raw pieces of me only for you to share them with the world.
You used me for your own benefit.
Hearing your name makes my skin feel as if I'm on fire.
Blood boiling.
Saying you cared is an understatement.
You only cared when the end point benefited you.
Relationships are supposed to be two-sided.
Mutualism.
Ours was parasitism.
When I say I regret meeting you
I mean it.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
is there a point, writing? not really? i was expected
to be an engineer... she was the housewife poet...
thanks! well... you can have your empty hall of "fame"...
what now? i am the failure,
he the saviour, society demands
bicycles constructed  by a one handed man...
i'd deep fry my own mother... you hear?
i'll **** your mother, dead, in hell...
while cutting my own mother's tongue out...
women, money, that's all they care about!
******* leeches! get them away from me!
suckling in an inversion of the baby...
these "things" compensating
for giving birth... as women do,
well enough... to compensate the
parasitism of foetuses...
abortion criticism: p'hah! prolong that p...
keep your church... ontology is versus biology...
counter-intuitive, i am sure...
by man, a woman is born,
by woman, a man is dead,
am i to be thankful? really?!
    really?! thankful?! i have to aspire
to this diabolical union of opposites?
       what am i, a ******* sadist?!
it's enough that i'm alive,
and having to revise birth with suicide,
that i am to suddenly to give a ****
about an ageing mother?!
thank **** that i've written enough
to contend with only a few
cult-like readers...
      i'd hate my work to encourage
comic book accessibility...
      i didn't write for the purpose
of volume, rather? a sieve...
             a well fed pole is lazy,
an underfed pole is angry
:
right now? i'm angry, but there is
absolutely no excuse to pacify genuine
anger...
     to keep on pacifying anger you keep
intensifying it...
    just keep pacifying & inhibiting anger...
you won't get any more jazz...
   i'll feed you twice the auschwitz!
and now you'll pacify this drunk exasperation...
whatever: dodo the rest;
white women have become like
iron maiden furniture: a tad bit uncomfortable
to live with, let alone sit on...
   so i'm really supposed to be thankful to england?
for sheltering would-be murderers?!
am i? jews, russians & arabs the entire lot
of "worthy" citizens?! really?
my my... applause! applause you *******!!!
i'll start nibbling on my toenails if you
ask politely...
             they say power: i say bribe -
or? passing off & on responsibility -
              nothing interesting,
just another pitiable affair of a venetian carnival
hard-on...
       but in the days, when a mother
overshadows her son, by respecting her son's
would be killer, and sees her son as only:
80 years old, providing enough money for a carer...
well...
             sorry mum... ask and plead elsewhere...
you have that russian empire banknote
you stole from a jew...
      should i be afraid? then again,
that woman's family, mostly her grandchildren
didn't care to see her, as much as i did,
hence i received the gift, and her grandchildren
received jack-****...
      flip a join, flip a join, see whether
there's any purpose to the staged gamble...
england... a tough idea to reinvent the necessity
and the desire, let alone purpose or chance,
of what happened with the beatles, the rolling stones,
led zeppelin & black sabbath...
**** me: history doesn't replicate itself that fast,
and esp. in the same place...
       you know the anglophone world is trying
too hard... you know it... because nothing
of worth is materialising...
         write enough to construct a labyrinth...
and when writing enough,
   by volume, rather than context: you get
the chances to hide the essential components
of revelation...
   write to construct a labyrinth...
           oddly enough? a form of the uttermost
mode of escapism...
                      write as little as you care to
attain in summary of:
glass people - in glass houses...
very much a mob throw of the dice...
    that it becomes...
             quality is irrelevant,
                       quality is in perpetual fluctuation...
it's never a plateau foundationalism...
    or? never settled by a foundation
       of a plateau...
        rhyme otherwise - juggle grammatical
terms of the same word, within the dynamic of two,
and you have a "rhyme"...
       i am not here to make language easy,
or, to be honest: instructive...
       why make language instructive,
when we are here to make language obstructive,
ingenious, originary?
     bedtime stories are stories my "friend"...
who are you to fool by only writing
instructive language, despotic language,
language of ikea manuals for putting up
a set of shelves, or despotic enough in writing
finicky qualms of "law" revisionism?
Ale May 2021
I wanted to need you,
and I wanted you to need me too.
But now I wonder why,
your parasitism is making me ill
as I die.

You're killing me off.
You didn't need me, right?
Walter Alter Aug 2023
Sgt. Bedlam of heavy artillery reporting sir
Bedlam I want you to pick the runt of the litter
and turn him into an agent assassin
with the clandestine power of hypnotism
yes Generalissimo I am here to obey
decked out like a burlesque ***** warlord
his Mauser cigar lighter on his belt
a curlicue mustache and a pie tin helmet
Opal his ***** fiend gun moll squirming in his lap
was our banana republic Generalissimo
Bedlam weighed the coming abrasions
concluded we are our scars and furthermore
if adaptation is survival so is parasitism
cleared his throat noisily and bowed an exit
later that fate laden candle lit night
he made a deep study of his globes and charts
Europa Asia Oceania the Steppes the Savannah
the mud slipped scorched Hills of Malibu
a map addict re-educated and re-issued
in the Great Culling of the Herd
his bell-shaped curve insisted love me
server and served a beautiful thing
if one enjoyed giant jungle arachnids and leeches
and centipedes that crawl up your ****
to lay millions of eggs when you sleep
where the laws of physics become
a tumbling burbling retinal stew
geysering steam and sulfur and
an occasional alabaster Venus de Milo
where was I oh yah
yet a thing of beauty was Opal to Bedlam
he heard scratching and purring at the door
it was she incognito in an iguana skin
we must escape this hideous circus of shame
she coo coo rooed as her tongue dove into
the holy fissure in his brain
and he threw caution to the feral hogs
forgetting good posture he oozed upon Opal
I bet you think you make your own decisions
she cloyed and again he tossed caution
into a cauldron of grunting mammalian rut
for several hours perhaps the entire weekend
it's easy to rewire a human
you just give them a little epiphany
and bingo ownership pretty much forevrr
his hypnotic gambit paid off in ducats
the Generalissimo slept like a corpse
the pet centipedes concluded their labors
his ex-kingdom rejoiced at their new liberty
and that's anarchy for ya

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon
Gnome hatter heroic measures taken
moost ludicrously asinine,
nonetheless hoop fully
me legendary penta meat herd bovine design

of modest fellow (me) will endure as divine,
no matter not one ****** poetic line
pertains to original (above crafted)
storied title of mine
completely buried under

thick pronouns hubble verbiage,
I honestly profess opine
precious time frittered away
resultant effort feeble and lame

no matter best college try
with top notch smartest swine,
but... belabored effort
got hogtied and shriveled on metaphorical vine.

Molded analogous to an oh my word
leaning tower of Pisa vase -
brandished (think) by humongous sword
fair complexioned blonde haired aery hen Nord

slapped with two lofty titles
(scapegoat and dunce),
whereby classmates ignored
insecure (missing mommy dearest)
as though linkedin courtesy umbilical cord.

Methinks, cuz me belly button
an innie versus outie
(former and latter both actual medical term),
a stretch, but nevertheless
with active imagination (mine)
doth envision coveted navel as

symbiosis for thee
parasitic Alaskan bull worm,
which notion might suddenly
captcha your attention,
and find thee to squirm.

Anyway aforementioned gobbledygook
attempting to describe theoretical
quantum physics incorporating parasitism
(yea kinda regarding figurative
Trojan Horse that snuck
into inchoate being eventually took

over in utero corporeal
essence Matthew Scott Harris) hook
line and sinker now necessitates sudden look
ever since more'n lint accumulated
within above mention round
little circular cranny and nook.

Yes... moost likely correlation exists
during course of nine month home,
when placenta didst
buzzfeed embryonic fetus
one need apply figurative fine tooth comb
straining poetic credulity
in an effort license to flesh out silly poem.

Which original intent hours gone by
meant to sketch out
(for rhyme without reason)
how yours truly nearly
got held back and waylaid
inclusive K-12 and

every single intervening grade
a curse 'cept for sixth year o primary school,
with student teacher Miss Rainbow,
she did not upbraid,
yet perhaps now she metamorphosed
becoming fossilized stodgy and staid

unlikely our paths will ever cross,
while both of us unwittingly
march to our own drummer
nsync with inexplicable
circadian rhythms obeyed

here (unbeknownst why)
palms perspire profusely
while sequestered at 2 Highland Manor Drive
hermetically sealed within apartment b44
one of many properties owned
by Grosse and Quade.
Pushing Snob
Pushing on Engines – and
Accelerates
What is on Waterland
Air restraints,

Spirituality
Spears to enable,
Stinking Banality
Granting its Cable!..

Scornfully, torturingly
Mixture’s alive:
Proves always cowardly
What’s put in Hive

Of Wasps, addicted to
Parasitism –
Suicidiluters’
Dreams and Charisms!..

Wealthy Impoverished
Points and revolves:
Calibers, Calories
Burning with ******,

Touchingly, tastefully
Trying what throbs –
Spoiling and wasteful he
Is, Mighty Snob!..

— The End —