Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…

You're all bark and no bite
How could something wrong feel so right
Wish we could've had just one night
But it wasn't in the cards

I'm alone here while you need space
Stuck between a rock and a hard place
It's the closest thing to any embrace
That I'll ever feel

Whether mountain or molehill
Tears are falling in my milk spill
I swallow down another hard pill
From my half empty glass

Vicarious atonement
Another happiness postponement
Damaged heart and stolen moments
Back to square one

Drugged
dragged down
cut
cut down
clown without
his thorny crown
Just now
it came to me
There is nothing
beyond this moment
Everything that will be
is just a stubborn postponement.

for you, we bundle into the car,
the littlest
(half my brother and twice my nuisance)
and the middlest
(14 going on favorite)
the bitterest
(only girl and pen-in-hand)
and the biggestest
(20 years
of bombastic nonsense)

30 minutes and four cornfields later
he'll start.
"i have to ***."
"there's a bottle up there, dad."
"dad, i have to ***."
"dad."
"dad."
"dad."
and he's going to *** in that ******* bottle
which will inevitably stay in the car for the remaining 8 and a half hours,
sloshing and yellow
too dangerously close to the color of something
you would actually drink.

the two youngest
will get into some sort of argument
some sort of argument that i will intervene in.
"shut up!" he'll say.
"chill out!" i'll shout.
"you chill out!"
and my father and my stepmother
will eye from the front seat
until one of them turns around
("relax, madeline!" sharply).

and then the oldest
like clockwork
will act like he knows more than he does about something
(my father will just chuckle, but i'll begin, "bullsh-" i'll begin, but my stepmother will hiss,
"madeline!" as if i've killed somebody
even though the 8-year-old curses even worse than i do).
he'll make a face at me
and i'll make a face at him.
the littlest will
inevitably
stomp on my seatbelt about 30 times a second
which i will not be able to stand,
and we'll get into an argument which will turn into me
versus
the whole car
(afterwards, much stewing,
and resentfully cranking my ipod up as loud as it will go).

9 hours and 12 thousand cliff-faces later

we'll get there.
we'll make it.
we'll only be
a little worse for the wear.
we will be swept up by our twelve billion aunts
our nine billion uncles
and our three billion cousins,
like we always are.

someday something will be missing.

first it was your back,
and the postponement,
and eventual cancellation of our trip.
then it was your surgeries
(why weren't they working?)
and then it was a series of words i don't understand

stage

                                                               ­                                           inoperable
           ­                                 3                               ­             

                                                               ­          cancerous                                                      ma­ss
lung
                            malignant
                                                                ­                                              radiation
                                    
            therapy        ­                                                                 ­                                                 chemo

you may crumple in
on that blackness inside you,
that's eating you alive
one lung at a time,
pushing,
on your back,
until you can't even stand.
the fabric of our family
is plucked by this
disease.
this is my poem, my plea
for you
and for us,
that you not pull into the blackness,
and that you fight the tumors and the tests
and that you win.

A girl like that

******* her way through the ranks

What can you make of them?
Don't want too ?

I've never believed that

I do

Delight in the darkness
I'm unable to cast shadows
And all the better for it


Copyright © 2011

Postponement of  your anger
Will bring an effective solution
Delay makes mind stronger
By putting an end to confusion
With patience if you linger longer
Before you turns meek your emotion
Decide by being calm and steady
Provide mind time to study
Side with truth for a remedy
When your mouth is closed
Half the problem is solved
When your concern is disclosed
Your problem gets dissolved
When self-discipline is imposed
To help you God has resolved.

M V VENKATARAMAN

It's a wonderful night to die.
The sky is stark from the lights around,
And below my feet are traffic sounds,
Wherein I hear a stricken cry.

It is a wonderful dawn to die.
The sunrise gives my gray surrounds
A color like the shedding's of hounds.
But my cowardice cannot let me fly.

It is a wonderful day to die.
All about, feelings of love abound,
Excepting me. I am alone as if in the ground.
But I do not want to die.

It is a horrible dusk to die.
The sun sets slowly, beneath the hallowed ground.
Within my mind, I behold the eternal town.
Safe in bed, I sleep alone. It matters not to me tonight.

It seemed so much as no new and uncommon thing
   that what passes on as only a disappearance,
   is but a temporary postponement of something
   long withheld in feelingfulness, in treason of one’s
  desire or simply, a hand which is there, or kept in a pocket
   scouring for loose change, a hand which, somewhere,
    is known in accurate proprioception: refusing to be held;

  I swim against the current not
     for the water behind your river
     that dreams of fish

   I wake not underneath the bowl
      of moon slated by sensorial howl,
     whose wounds are white like
      a face once held in between palms

  and sleep almost endlessly, together
    with everything that twitches, slewing
  to avoid collision, alliterates to blur meaning,
     sways fervently to addle meeting

until we let loose a sigh, and unfasten ourselves,
   dropping pace and both our eyes meet.

Act I

               Married at 25, in a small chapel off Caustic drive. Mr. Robinson was the envy of the whole town, as they all witnessed the beauty of his wife in a wedding gown. Twas a truly glorious occasion, even for those opposed to the Victorian persuasion.
                As a gift from her father, Mrs. Robinson received a family home. It wasn’t a gigantic bother, just a free place to roam. The couple was instantly overjoyed, not that it was an emotion to avoid. It just wasn’t a typical occurrence, for Mr. Robinson who, devoid of the world, felt little congruence.
                For six long years Mrs. Robinson’s husband toiled with cars, and avoided the nightly pleasure of bars. He brought home every penny he could, but was robbed a bit, working in a “hood”. Still he had enough saved for a little vacation, something to distract him from his “wretched vocation”.
                On the way home from withdrawing some money, just some small cash to get something for his honey, Mr. Robinson was stood up by a common thief, who smiled viciously with rotted teeth.  The man handed over his wallet with little struggle, scarred for his life. Seeing a license the man remarked through a muddle, about ****** Mr. Robinson’s wife.

Act II

                  Brutality was in this man’s blood, his day of reckoning approaching like a flood. It was clear to see in the thief’s gaze, that this wasn’t some malformed craze. Mr. Robinson had seen the look before, in his own mirror before crashing to the floor.
                  Violence was something begrudged in his soul, burning hot now festered by burning coal. He had avoided it all his life, steered away by a devotion to a girl he knew would be his wife. But in this moment it could have all faded away. So Mr. Robinson allowed his mind to stray.
                   His fists flew in an uncontrolled manor, there was little there that resembled glamour. The thief thrashed with the might of a knife, but Mr. Robinson put up a fight, clamoring to an image of his wife. Soon the thief’s skull was as flat as the pavement, and then Mr. Robinson sat there, constant and patient.
                    After a trip to the bar, Mr. Robinson returned home to his wife, and then laid before her all his strife. He wasn’t one to hide behind a lie, which could sever such an ever-loving tie. Mrs. Robinson understood it all to well, though from her hysteria you could hardly tell.
                    Tears were shed between both the Robinsons, and then came a series of promises. The first was that they’d leave the country with great speed; the second came contingent on one final deed. Mr. Robinson had to clear out his chequeing account, without inspiring a hint of doubt.
                    Sure enough, the deed went off without a single hitch, but in the back of his mind, Mr. Robinson had an itch. The wish for chaos hadn’t gone unnoticed inside his head, just lingered behind like a common dose of dread. Still he pressed on, and bought two tickets to Milan.

Act III

                    Mr. Robinson was drenched in sweat as the couple went through the metal detectors, and crossed a path of lazy eyed T.S.A inspectors. Regardless of any present fear, the man was aware that his destination was more than near. Walking past the last of the T.S.A, Mr. Robinson looked cool, nodding along to the music of DFA.
                    Boarding the plane turned out to be no big deal, in the pat down security had hardly copped a feel. They played a movie on the plane; its plotline seemed to run quite the same. A man boarded a westbound flight, but fell victim to a trending plight.
                    The whole compartment was overloaded with rage, and it came in a parcel they couldn’t encage. One by one they fell victim to disillusion, surely the result of a drastic head contusion. Though quickly it spread like a vile pollution…no race exclusion.
                     In the end only one lay in the wake, the turmoil, to him, was no more than a piece of cake. He was immune to the disease spreading amongst the flight, and used brute force to conquer the plight. Slid from the plane a triumphant man, and smiled for the cameras after a quick scan.
                     The whole film was a colossal joke, told from the mirrored reflection of a director on coke. Mr. Robinson didn’t take much from it at all, except that the righteous stand tall, it didn’t matter that the plot was about a hero, Mr. Robinson was going to burn that down like the fires of Nero.

Act IV

                      He strolled off the plane with a righteous grin. Mrs. Robinson obliviously was seen coating sun tan lotion all over her skin. They stayed at a hotel near the beach; Mr. Robinson renewed his license and began to teach. Six months passed without blood, no names to drag through mud.
                      During this time the Robinsons had a child, who had a tendency to be quite wild. The little girl was far too rambunctious; though saying so may be a bit presumptuous. It seems though, that it was the opinion of her father, who found need in removing the life of his daughter.
                       Mrs. Robinson played the part of being willfully naive, searching for some desperate form of reprieve.  She knew her husband had gone insane, the facts for which were more than plain. Still she pushed through and looked for the good, no matter what sort of hallowed grounds the shadow stood.
                       Two years went by without incident, their tedious normalcy, overly consistent. Then a reporter came asking questions, about a small time mugger and their known relations. Mr. Robinson laughed it off as though nothing was the matter, and then took the man down through the science of avoided clatter.
                       Hidden amongst those who don’t get found, was Mr. Robinson’s third victim, newly crowned. The deed lay hidden for a decade or so, time’s vagueness makes it hard to know. Romance was lively in the Robinson household, though such flare up hardly needed to be foretold.

Act V**

                      Mrs. Robinson was blind to all her surroundings, making it rather hard to collect any findings. She continued to believe that her husband was a kind soul, an innocent, but worldly foal. He spoke to her by the tender light of a candles glimmer, held her close in that weak flames shimmer.
                      One day she fractured a wall overloading a shelf, behind the latex laid the Robinsons daughter herself. Terrified and confused, Mrs. Robinson waited for her husband to come through the door, when he did she was already curled up on the floor.
                     They prayed together for a solemn moment, and then Mr. Robinson murdered his wife with little postponement.  He placed her inside the wall of his family home, right night to the kitchen phone. The next 40 years he consoled his loss with many a life, but none were buried anywhere near his wife.
                      He left the home as a constant reminder, of those he had failed as a provider. Stayed in it for every moment one should, and held onto it as long as one could. But in death, the home went up for auction, and it was sold off without a hint of caution.
                      A young Stedman bought the home for him and his future wife. They bought the home at a very low price, at such a rate it was hard to think twice. Renovations came, as one would expect, though the issues found weren’t necessarily from neglect.
                      This family was tainted by that gruesome, wretched home. Turns out, Mr. Stedman was also forced to roam. He had a nasty habit with a very sharp blade…that type of predilection doesn’t typically fade. During upkeep, Mr. Stedman discovered an odd bit of insulation, but certainly wasn’t about to seek further consultation.
                      He realized exactly what it was laying in the walls of his home, and he saw no reason not to let it get overgrown. The first victim added was his very own wife; they had been going through a bit of a strife. Soon after mudded in his parents in law, but removed them thereafter finding their odour quite raw.  

……………………………………………………………………………………

To dwell in the current
To aspire the morrow
Something you weren't
Something I sorrow

We all glance the former
We all forget futurity
Long and dream warmer
Long to appreciate obscurity

These years become days
These days only moments
Live life and find your way
Live life with no postponement

This dream worked paradise built on southern myth
Collapsed the other night, I’m sure.

Floorboards drenched in gasoline,
Burnt to embers in a seconds fifth.

A devote wife seen to be impure
Stricken dead by the last shell in a magazine.

The silhouette of a hollow soul
Took to dragging out her man.

He’s brought about betrothed in atonement
The latter half feeling hardly whole

He speaks soft words to his beloved Anne
Departure leaves no postponement.

Barrel presses in on the underside of his ear.
Carrying the sulfur scent that killed his love

He hears the trigger click, silence from the gun
No deafening boom for all to hear.

Takes the demon down with no more than a shove.
On the ground bellow stands his lover’s son.

Vernarth in the evening of his life is called again to raise his sword, perhaps following the paths of Paul of Tarsus, precisely here his Word would begin in the figure of a Hoplite who will redeem the oppressed, who will reinforce the growth of the seeds, that will give hope to those deprived of Faith when they have to face their own Apokálypsis that would allow them to take with them when embarking on this adventurous daring in pages of life that follow that for many will be unknown. The seer's paranormal experience in Patmos will vivify his commendable virtue of confessing himself as a defender of Life and Death from the same intermediate final point, to then reach the nexus of gratitude that compensates that leads to make amends when leaving his abode naked and return every six months to Sudpichi in Solstice, and Equinox in Spring to Patmos explaining the premiere of this final event.

Vernarth's distinctive and codes will swell an intertestamental Biblical event, made up of crude abstract and demonstrative images that from so much decanting could be assimilated to what the Mashiach did in the Siloam Cistern, more than water being the same Hydor that is born from the origin and reaches the end of the erudition. The desperate desire to limit the spirit of a soldier is clouded within his own microclimate, wishing for a possibility that lies in the impossibility and fruits of the fan that separates the Universe from the Earth. From here the Faith is professed by the reflections of all those who have lived in a body of Flint, as were their parents freed by Vernarth, letting rest the readings of the sunset to those who from Flint have become meteorites that wander through the universe. As possible Christians to re-convert after a pre-tribulation or a new order, separated from what deprives us of new incursions. The Apokálypsis according to Vernarth does not diverge from Saint John; rather it tends to seclude itself from all the windstorms of divinities that are intermingled in its mysteries from all the exuberances of an endless gospel, which moves the hair of the Yahweh with the scent of lavender even within the pantheon itself after three days. The mystery of not understanding that a common man bears stamped on his body all the signs that give observance of a Passionate John that is in all of us having to share his silence within us, as suggested by the silence of which we are fertilized by clairvoyance’s of Patmos more than the consequences of some supra desire of Vernarth to cover some hint of autobiography, but more generously than the doors of his Megarón or Dypilon, be clairvoyance that shows us that the doors are the unknown within what is and we cannot Observe, V.G. as is illustrative in Spinalonga when Marie des Vallées settles at the point of the salvation of Theus and Vikentios all behind the transom as a consistent metaphysics of the unfulfilled desires due to burdens of other souls in salvation entrusted to resplendent beings. This is testimony to buried or invariable enemies such as Edomites with the affinities of the Seleucids or Pharisees with the Primitive Christians in the channel of each word that interprets the opposite diameter adaptable to a prayer that circulates the course of what an exegete does well If the original word of Vernarth's testimony of never perishes to aspire to do as the manah on the flowers that well deserve to perch on the Xiphos, where the central nerve of its shoe is the Baldric, many times it turned only in the battlefield when Vernarth used both hands, what a mystery! Here is the glossary of what is double-edged and double-handed metal when its length is pointed to the edge of the world where the Sun at its tip let the Light penetrates. Each unknown hemisphere will be possible to slice with both edges of each Xiphos as interpenetrated bronze and iron until it dissolves in the light of the Spring Sun.

All the causes were weighted to a grandeur where the messages of recomposing all the patrimonial legacies that would be the influence that everything could decline in the grandeur of bloodcurdling screams from the temples, which remained in the dark because they did not know who to unbind from the co-responsibility of seven churches of the Hellenic Elegies; from Ephesus to Laodicea trying to remove from the jaws atrocious empires that sentenced policies with more than a thousand years without having any more than a macular century. Vernarth in the depth in which nothing bothers him incites his sensitivity with what reduces the pain in his compassion of the 1st century, which will never stop passing through the well-deserved waking time in all the streets of Greece in which all his traces are they shuddered in challenges that deserved to be from a great classroom that is oversized more than any possible Odeon to fill with spectators from a well-to-do society and satisfied as it seems today with a high price paid for an unworthy degree.

Also, his apocalyptic metaphysics flees by whole perverted societies, and not half due to points of tension of his overwhelming immorality, and defense of all nature that does not corrupt itself, perhaps from an echo locked up when converting from Laodicea to Ephesus as if he were to remake Vernarth's Inverted "V" as the initial contact point of these seven derivations of his decline. The barbarians are at the foot of the very door that enters rather by inertia, and decline from the extinction of the Sun to later redefine it through cycles from spring to winter as we will see that it will emerge with the Duoverse manifested, after trampling on the beast that feeds on of pain and ingenuity from which all our destinies are focused to be swallowed by the snout of a battalion of enemies that migrate from the beast, but they do not realize that this is how calls should be made to all the empires that leave to his abandoned combatants, left on burning pyres immune, punished by flames that will never consume him, who were dazed and with their temper will come out alive with bodies that do not belong to us, annoyed at not prospering because of this anti-divine ****, understanding that the harshness of our tears will not make us neutral or worthy of the joys of suffering together what belongs to us in a body already sacrificed, this is the Apocalypse of flourishing images that are directed in processes of slaughtering the lamb that I cannot and will not be able to identify with the apparent strength of knowing how to be forgiven or undermine the riches of a leadership that for long millennia hoarded riches and never delegated its feigned goodness to us where the grass grows and twists from its root, rethinking days to count and increasing the agony of counting the simulated strengths that never let us enjoy.

It must be understood that all the opposing forces merged with the numbered days of a new rebirth, with the cries of Vernarth from Hyperborea, the pre-tribulation from Erebus or Sheol, from the anguish of the pectoral or Lynothorax from which the days counted in the same distance of traveling in the Purgation or Katartirio of the total confinement of which could be mentioned shouting in the acoustics of the Valley where the last word will remain. We place ourselves in the extravagance of which the rays of luminance deliver us the entire body of credibility to reach the step of happiness that will flow from the first and inaugural vision that confirms the first of the first of the alchemy that has been positivist, even of what paradoxically resurrects not expecting to be who we expected it to be, but despair is cast down in an act in which Vernarth dares to let go of the Mashiach's hand, to go help his parents from being petrified by the Flint that It would be provided for the end of the world with the prompt assistance of St. Jerome of Estridon as it was for an act where the Dragon calmed down, and stopped moving its tail, perhaps from the Green Dragon of Slovenia or its offspring for spreading within the world expelling fire with scales, horns that could be trusted from the Ibex of Valdaine, the Dragon of the Stained Glass of the Cathedral of Avignon hitting with its tail the Portals of Saint George, stating that such time the Nibelung Ring Cycle with Siegfried or secular specimen of the Draconian descent of the Merovingians, of the very Greek Drakon that began to subjugate Patmos in the year 76 AD. C. in between and badly wounded between the rocks of the Wind Tunnel of Profitis Ilias or as the dragon could be welcome, and if it were Lohikäärme Finnish descent stopping Soviets on their borders of blood that roars fire from the deepest corner of their land. The Greek serpents were born in the seas for several miles around where there were no other species but them, because if they had they would have been devoured by the great Ha-Shatan with ten horns and seven heads, much of the literary inspiration of San John is in Greek, but it is more likely that he originally came through the Near East. In the embryonic Roman Empire, each military cohort had a particular identification Signum (military standard), after Trajan's Dacian wars in the east, the military standard of the Dacian dragon entered the legion with the Sarmatian and Dacian cohorts: a large fixed dragon at the end of a spear with large open jaws of silver and with the rest of the body formed of colored silk. With its jaws facing the wind, the silky body was inflated and undulating, resembling a windsock, the Dragon continues to travel along roads that are the marks of the chariots without any mercy to those who awaited them at their destination with legions throwing hot breath that only Saint Jerome of Stridon knew how to mitigate. This huge lizard will continue to lay siege to the evil that cannot contain it, just like the basilisk in the Raedus Codex to imbue the never-burning blades of fire from the Apocalypse of Saint John, by chance with the fiery semblance of a Wyvern in the dome of the cathedral of Saint Nicholas in Slovenia, swallowing his own fire. With a fateful language of birds that would codify Siegfried that the end of everything comes from the seas of Patmos with heated water.

That winged creatures will come copiously to quiet the world to the world of Miðgarðsormurinn perhaps in Jämtland, besieging the Soviets like a serpent more than winged in vigor that shakes the Celtic tree with its Birch and Beech in Solstice or a dragon that was not with wings glued with wax that crashed when falling before reaching Sicily as is the case of Daedalus and Icarus, or the Lindworm dragons that expelled fire from the Mörser 16 howitzers of the Second World War. All these wealthy treasures are fundamental pieces of all the paradigms that form the prelude to a History that has blinded us without giving rest to everything that surrounds us, not even lavishing Christian burial with evil eyes that are characteristic of the dragons that they spit fire from your back, stalking a Britannia Pendragon.

Much of the banners, heraldry, and heraldry bear this emblem of beings made up of male and female offspring to form as a family the antigen of Slavic Bulgarian humanity, as a dissident figure that was torn from the edges of the Apocalypse to protect the crops where probably Rains of gold would come for his crops if he were male, and female if it were a prophecy of bad deeds to denigrate the farmer's seeds. Strong-blooded dragon would be Zmiy, Ukrainian carrying a four-legged beast, and on each leg a Cornucopia for golden petals that are collected from other maidens who will never stop being lush, protecting the arteries that rain healthy blood from Ukrainian maidens like the Zmei. From Zsablas that carry the Polish Smok on their backs that will be reborn from this apology of the Dragon of the Apocalypse that freed them from the Katyn Forest, on the banks of the Vistula where Bogdan drank water with his Zsablas to go free the Heroes of Smolensk and each Polish officer who had a Dragon stamped on his forehead, and also on the Coat of Arms of the Cracovians in Piasts of Czersk, fleeing from the cellars of some Warsaw revolt.

The climbing of the Basilisks of the Profitis Ilías Wind Tunnel will reign throughout Hispania as a prophetic emanation from the mouth of San Juan in Asturias and Cantabria with the magnificent silhouettes of the mountains in the Dragon Saw, followed by gargoyles that come to life in the peaks as a young Hoplite who wears his Áspis Koilé polished to annoy the dragon, which is nothing more than the basilisk when he was tricked by the Raedus Codex by mistaking them for his own offspring, thus allowing those who went to the Investiture of the Himation. It will be the eponym of Sugar, a Basque masculine god, who is often associated with a serpent or a dragon, but can also take other forms. His name can be read as "male snake".

Marielle de Quentinnais shows us in Saint George and the Dragon in the era of the Antipopes in Avignon, of which Saints and Blesseds would fight with the powers of the Dragon as in this sub-sequence that was released from Forli, with great similarity to the Mercurial Ambrosia due to Saint Mercurial as the laurel of Christianity over the idolatry in which terrified people did not sleep because of the frightful tremors of Forli and Forlimpopoli. Possibly, Saint John, the Apostle helps them put the stoles around the cornered Dragon's neck. Every evil force that is not defeated is a postponement of that moment in which it will fall surrendered, as it was from the original of the Dragon Hunters like Saint John of Patmos styling in the acroteras, and ledges of the Megarón that points to the Aegean seas to see if some of them are coming regurgitating the intact body of Margarita de Antioquia, that burst from the black belly of the Dragon saying "Draco vivit in Homine, non in Legendis" "The dragon lives in Man, not in Legends"

Having established Draco Vernarth Apocalypsis liturgy "Apocalypse of the Liturgy of the Dragon of Vernarth" the message continued along the path of Hydor where precisely the defenseless doors will be protected towards the enthronement of Silence with the ardent hope of Salvation as evidenced by the Pauline message "Marana Tha” building the coming of the Eternal that with all its dimensions will transform the collapsed world, tearing the senses that can reach the trade that transforms the ritual that is entrenched in the genetics of eternity in the tail of the Dragons that have formed classes and subclasses of heraldry of the Black Templar Knights, who roam on the run, creating the confusion that the medieval feudal mysteries were the continuation of an antiquity even if hostilities did not exist unless the tails of the basilisk of Patmos are crossed with some science from Ephesus to Pergamon , with the providence of a god in extinction that s ea disobeyed by his troops, and is bloodily decimated by the suffered trances of evil from which the ill-fated Knight is transformed into his own Dragon bled and immolated.

The end is not made with a mere vision of a Draconian Liturgy, from the year 72 AD. the Roman legions of Palestine were uncrossing where voices were heard like an occupied face of land but free of religious authority, which in one way or another saw the contemplative passage of half kindness or benevolence of a Caesar that would later be followed by the chins of fire of the Dragon, always escorted by Vernarth who lived and heard everything succumbing to imperial systems that were attached to filings of Hebrews that burned on their backs, to corners not sharpened by Greek spears to corner the frequency of a detractor of symbols of the Apocalypse, that was embodied in Vernarth with sumptuous flint that adhered to the Áspis Koilé or smaller Peltas that became prosaic to arrows that adhered to the tin shaft to vindicate itself in the foliage, as a recurring expression of the apocalyptic mentality assumed by recognizing that the Apocalypse is lived inside, and nothing on the outside that corrodes more than its own entrails. Indeed, everything private and non-transferable exhorts us to the end of the melodrama from where we must share hearts for those who keep their manners, and make the opening of the Kassotides a tiny possibility of change after Vernarth realizes that he has the furthest possible the dung of the Human Dragon, creating a dominant culture that recovers what enables us to preserve in its own Identity, illuminated and reinforced by conviction.

Vernarth, a few steps from falling from the abyss, makes his prophecy to ask the sky, the Mashiach, and Spílaiaus to release the chains of Kairós, so that the genre of granting life revives the system of the flame of the omega point, which then is reversed in celestial spasm, strongly grasping the tail of the dragon that will transport him with three lightning bolts and trumpets with the seven trumpets that will leave them in Delphi according to the nature of the Cassiotis or Kassotides moat, as a praiseworthy insurrection of being reached by a metaphorical being in Daniel as an apocalypse that will indicate that rain of light and fire will flow from on high, but they will all be directed from Patmos to Delphi.

Vernarth joins the Maccabees to obstruct the Seleucids, as the two books of the Maccabees tell, who start a ****** guerrilla war against the oppressor, and the prophet Daniel chooses a totally alternative and non-violent path. This shows that the worst militia of an armed man is to break with the sovereignty of his oppressed soul, and then be batoned in literary artifice like books from the present to a past with leaders buried in the ruins of lost civilizations, as in the case of the Seleucids and Edomites in open bread on themselves by Mikaiyáh, Archangel Saint Michael. Behold Vernarth where each gloss of contracted episodes never disengaged from the muscular tail of the Dragon that evidenced his vision of St. John, in such expectation that it resolutely rose from the heights of the Iridescent Nimbus, subduing all empires in the tail of the Dragon. The dragon that shakes the resistance of the ungovernable walls, but not the law of the powerful who makes himself believe, but the muscle piece that is rooted in Tel Gomel, is nothing more than the Holy Scripture of the duality of Saint John the Apostle / Vernarth; both as a monosemic (uni-meaning) and univocal lexicon that penetrated with all the desire of the heart moving them together, to decipher after the year 96 AD, towards the unveiling of Sardis to Laodicea with the Iscaton that is subtracted from the Dragon's Tail.

Tho soft the snowflakes tumble down
The sunlight shines upon my skin
And peace, in quickly gliding tracks
Is found, and quietly takes me in.

Through white wheat fields and frozen lakes
We travel round the moment;
And mountain skies with glorious pasts
Plead for our departure's postponement.

Once-green fields and once-yellow trees
Are sinking down with the mellow breeze
Now blazing past while in my dreams
I picture spring and warmth with ease.

"Now arriving...careful exiting!"
Sounds as a rude alarm to me
And my sullen eyes again awake
To the winter outside my dreamy glee.

Safely behind a wall of glass
I can see the life outside
Existing beyond, but told
the grass is not always greener

Wood walls, remain safe
Desks, continue to produce
Results, the resources gained
Coffin, the inevitable result

To take the door, or continue preparing?
For what do I risk from remaining?
Gain to never use
Use to never gain

Living without smiling
Surrender to postponement
The itch to run, the fear to arrive
Opportunity versus Opportunity Cost

What are the profits of opposite?
Green bills or memories?
Do they exist only apart?
Execute for profit, execute for joy

Creating equilibrium
A life long journey of seeking
To grin often in the faces
of those who have most

white: whips like its many
      a name,
         divines in it still,
  my eyes pure engulfed in
      the silence;

       white: which sound
     spills the sud of women
      sitting by the river
     looming clean sheets purulent
       with the Earth's gruel;

   white:
   oh, by the
      window,
   heart's ****** tillage or
      a word unspoken sinking
  in postponement, a moth's
    glide in perpetual motion

    white, many days,
      fewer nights,
         earth sways to crystalline
a tear to light a face
      of beauty once
      tarnished black with
          the blood of roses.

Sunday morning.
The ***** *** chill has huddled,
And backed off for a week,
Maybe two,
Winter’s taunt tendered by reprieve,
An unexpected and
Odd postponement of pain and pulse.
The noose of minus 30
Loosens just a smidge,
The condemned man’s smirk,
Part sass this smile of temporary pardon,
Slips into place
Masks a weathered face
Whose wrinkles
Like the rings
Of the twisted Methuselah tree
Accumulate and record.

Dawn appears as a righteous force,
An arrogant prince this weak winter sun,
Still, sunlight sterilizes,
Scrubs away the stain of night.
It will be a black and white clear day,
The cold is crisp,
This morning’s taste is all hard apple,
The crunch of boots on the ground.

Take heart,
The days ahead will bend not break,
We have survived these times before,
Fought this hate before,
We will live to laugh again
Even if in folly.

At home on the couch
I crumple the edges
of the puke bag

The old times, the old songs
the excuses for the postponement
of the promised future

are back, back
from not having been away

We're still at home
in Old Man State, our
freedom was a dream

There are no more musicians
and no more beautiful
girls from Ukraine

The iron cold is back, back
from not having been away

invigorating punctuation marks via diacritical appellation of c# / ć comparison... how the ( ) can act as a semi-colon (;) - or how the colon (:) can act as both italic text, and a cascading postponement (cliffhanger). - musica est omnis - music is all. - as does the hyphen predate the paragraph... linearly, a paragraph within a paragraph... among other uses, notably in Irish or Polish texts, looks more like an authenticity of an author, who didn't say: he / she said, i.e.:
- i thought you were talking (boris)
- let me assure you, i wasn't (dalton)...
in english it would have been read
                   "i thought you..." boris said,
       "let me assure you..." dalton said.
and i know i shouldn't begin a sentence with
a conjunction but i must add:
              what's with words being isolated
   in inverted commas?
is this some ****** of idea
                    keeping thinking open to
speaking, or speaking open to thinking,
  in an ambiguous sense of tasting the freedom
and leisure of an aristocratic demand?
                      please, tell me,
                             you farting... or sneezing?

there's only one cure to jerking,
you actually reach a point
that you're simply "exhausted"
tugging a limp, ******* of a "glorified"
marble effigy of a *****,
that always seems to be mising
in greco-roman statues...
    an effigy of a ******* amputee...
****** don't help either...
       i can only imagine
Michelangelo sculpting a *****
like he might an urn...
         probably the best hand-job
in the world, ever...
              jokes are cheap,
keep the tap water running...
ever notice how men without ******
hair produce the most
  female offspring?
             just a wild guess that's
also a question that's also
in the wilderness of preferential
questions being asked
      of could possibly un-domesticate
a man,
   and find him re-emerging
                  from 100 years into: now...
and run amok in a frenzy
of ******* pride, and testosterone
     hummah hummah hummah -
boobbie boobbie clone wars...
                         me? as a man?
i retired from the ******* arguments
of english existentialism...
             i can't stomach it simply
because i find the french finding it
easier to **** in a cafe than an englishman
having a date...
                    but of course some people
will continue the legacy...
   but it's still going to be:
your genes... my ideas...
           i simply can't conjunction
a fathomable take on the necessity of
passing genes via conjecture...
                 gene what?
                            **** geneous?
             men are devalued for a reason
that a tissue exists, and the toilet...
      it really doesn't take scented
candles to march off into the sexless
wilderness as equating
  taking a **** with the "pleasurable"
rascal...
                   the english version
of existentialism has simply turned
into a feat of desperation...
               if you've read some german
or french existentialism you'd notice
that: the whole ******* universe needs
saving...
                i'll endure profane not
for reasons of respecting "etiquette" -
but because i like it...
           been sold **** all day,
might as well spree on ushering some **** out...
nonsense belongs to the youngster
brigade...
                   i'm a 31 year old
no-nonsense granny... trapped...
                  transgender being involved!
- i love, because i hate with a passion...
only because love is no *sorry,
anemic apologists, take a breather...
          - and what better revenge than leaving
a woman impregnated with
your spawn, after she did you ill?
                 then again,
i was always going to play an imitation
role of some, family member...
namely my father's mother,
who is less of a ghost in the memory
i have of my mother's grandfather,
who's a shade to me,
   in that one afternoon i spent with him,
he playing the piano, me playing
a mini-piano...
                    like **** i'm playing
a piano no...
             i graduated to play past
the diatonic alphabet...
i'll far and you'll whistle, ******...
   A B C D E F G...
seven! seven ******* letters to write me
some prokofiev!
              it's almost unbelievable that it
has to be enjoyed so much.
- ever read that one about
the beast of: lust, gluttony,
               greed, sloth, wrath,
           envy and pride?
  that hydra?
              my my,
                    the beautiful: parallel.

A particularly partial postponement of grieves,
Lie then spit grace at my tongue with ease

Unfollowed by saviours
Unprocessed, unclean

Cartwheel by powders
Puffed and pristine

St. Ioannis
Chant  of the Messiah

Vernarth describes in the voice of the Apostle Saint John:
“From Samaria I had my father Zebedeo in my manifestations…, my mother Salomé and brother Apostle Santiago, together with me in my manifested voice. As a fisherman, my father saw us grow up and left us in the boat after the Messiah called us, believing he would not see us grow anymore! My father lived in Bethsaida and carried out his commercial activity in the Sea of Galilee or Tiberias next to us, between Capernaum and Bethsaida I walked escorted by the voices of the silence of freedom; this peace prostrated me to the monuments that swing the invisible wings of the legions asking me to meet them by the hands, for hours ..., and in great circles since I got on the boat flooded with Faith with the Master. This is how I call seeing the homonymous village located on the western shore of this sea to become its monument of silence and the heritage of the House of Fishing in Bethsaida. I always knew that my father had a parental agreement with the Master, being my uncle, since my mother Salomé has been identified as the sister of our Mary. From Capernaum, since I walked and grew up among nets, boats and from where six others accompanied me as my brothers and fellow apostles. Thus, natives, we gave our stamps of predilections to the Lord for navigating us in the divine water of the Jordan, here I was a fisherman and a brother to the fish who also spoke for me ..., for the sayings that identify my closeness with the family lineage of Capernaum.

Jesus from the bottom of his being, and with his throat up, called us to Santiago and my "sons of thunder" because of our impetuous character, which was revealed in some events related in others. The two of us, together with San Pedro…, constitute the most intimate nucleus of the teacher. I was a favorite of those who reserved my presence with the ****** Mary, where she was trembling in her clothes, at the foot of the cross when our Father Master Messiah died, drawing us all closer from that day than we thought we were protesting ”.

“In this epithet now where I point out who invited me to his boat in Skalá, Patmos; “Vernarth”, also son of the Lord, invited me to return to my original land. Always from Patmos, He kept sending me and I received messages in crossing winds and by winds crossing anagrams on the tail of the fish ..., in his mouth in Aramaic, so that they could bring them from where my roots fill your abundant fish farming ... , rhizome populace that in his parables hear him, that crickets bulge from his brambles in his golden presence, golden passion and golden agony, even I looking at him with my eternal eyes, with my aching apocalypse eyes crying ..., even seeing how I was doing with him on Golgotha in his arms, imitating him in his courage more than in himself and in all those who did not see him leave. "

“Away in my exile sentenced by Domitian, I wrote the Gospel and its Epistles in Ephesus and the Apocalypse in Patmos, in the Aegean. Both in our Gospel and in the prophetic visions of Revelation, I was invaded by the high-level doctrinal and symbolic language of the passages with the Master. I was the eagle evangelizing, flying in terror to Patmos, and I know that your eagle will take me to Ephesus to sleep in the gospel of the Lord eternally. "

“I was never a child, I was always who I am, if I was a child…, only my parents managed to see it, because I was already sitting as if I was in the same Transfiguration, Pentecost, with the daughter of Jairus, in Lake Tiberias and on his departure miraculous in Gethsemane. "

“I was always who I am…, I never felt that my bones grew in proportion to which the distances would allow me to walk faster than an Eagle, but not so in my parents who did not see my leafy plumage feet, they only saw their postponement by lifting and waking up my ancestors who never stopped sleeping when I really tell them who I am ...”

"As a child I never thought I would be beardless, until now I am not, and until he allowed me to lay my head on him, after I was under the rain of water and blood that fell from his sacred rib."
"In the Next Kingdom of Jesus of Nazareth, in a kind of apology, I will be for him again as a child, recognizing him even as present and future Father"

Vernarth looks at him and hugs him for a long time, everyone else does the same. They leave Capernaum, to set out on innumerable routes to Nazareth, trying to find a new path, but a Golden Eagle appeared to them telling them where to go ... it would probably be where the Master toured the invocations on an INRI wood ... where thousands of eagles would pose his claws containing his bleeding ..., and more than a "Methalanguage reigning in all Believers of Love held in their shroud" as I did perhaps singing in egregious languages that they would meet him, more than an expert, more than a language close to the zeal that covered us dismantling in the gentle way that sustained us shortening its objective. We mission to meet the ancestors of Mary and her Silence, which floods her son with essences, making him wait so that he does not grow, so as not to lose him as a sentenced son, but rather salvific and glorified, and making him closer to the rib of his mother and shining in the key of his childhood ..., gathering the forgetful hearts, in the hearts that go far from the flesh and the core of the Faith.

Life is a postponement of the inevitable denouement.

A statue of limitations
is what's needed to
pay hommage to
Margaret Thatcher.

A posthumously
proscribed, plinth
prevention, proposal,  
postponement party!


        \\|| / /

My emotions scream
They make me siege to your command

Hollowing clutters of fallen ashes

When we both retire
from this hot air balloon dream
that we seemed to once aspire

Those isotopic memories lost me now

An illusion that falls as quickly as it seems
to the knees that never fully grasp
reality in its intention

That gives me the realness of who you are
No postponement.
This is down to maintenance man!

Love is too holy to be left alone
Walking backwards
Down the black alley of regret
And the misstep of dissatisfaction

I swear that is death to me.

A poem I conjured you
To personify my lust
In my hope, bid your endorse
Before all faith is crushed

Certain aspects I’ll illustrate
Such as the way you hold your lips
And the way your body shivered
As it brushed my finger tips

The way we spent the night
Skin falling in my arms
And how we watched sunrises’
Paired with your scent and charms

Gravity fostered our hold
For that night and that moment
But we were both foretold
Our due was for postponement

As there just wasn’t time
For our limerence and indulgence
Even though it could be caused
By love’s own seduction

And I know of what you’ll ask
If I keep patience for the time
Till the day you hold me
And it will be sublime.

I’m sorry I hurt you
Not worth your forgiveness
And even admitting it’s
Probably superfluous
Just what you wanted to hear
For too long
Was how I tried to sound
Like the loveliest song
But the worst I did wrong
Wasn’t something I said
But the dread overwhelming
My thoughts of you head
Unexpressed to the best
Of its unwritten stammer
Its stuttering,
Fluttering
Must impress manner
So much
So impossibly much more to say
But so little
Could even begin
To convey
What you needed to know
To be seeing
The me
Unmistakably
Who I am
Being
When I
Couldn’t tell you why
Something had changed
And the feelings I had for you
All rearranged
But still present
In each active moment
Despite how I often
Consigned
To postponement
Refined
More precisely defined
The words chosen
When once again drawn
From the depths of lament
What you mean to me
Finally
I represent