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Virginity lost,
innocence stolen.
Sheets tangled,
emotions interwoven.
***** clothes,
ruffled hair.
Questions of how,
when and where.
Reminders of tomorrow,
predictors for tonight.
Confirmations of standing,
Emotions just right.
Placed bedside,
words left out.
Lust and passion,
what tonight’s about.

Morning confession,
admittance of sin.
Wishing lust to stop,
but praying it’ll never end.
Emotions dressed,
worn only during day.
Then changed at night,
seeking for new prey.

Virginity lost,
innocence stolen.
Stealing dignity,
never beholden.
A thin veil,
an attempt to cover.
Comes off at night,
under new cover.

Virginity confirmed,
finally dead.
Studies done,
in the bed.
Innocence gone,
never alive.
Veil disappeared,
ending the strive.
Bedside table,
falls apart.
Pieces found in sheets,
of an intertwined heart.
Lust and passion,
exchanged here.
Intertwined with emotions,
cries hard to overhear.

She walks down the corridor
back straight, immaculate.
Heels tapping a regular rhythm
heart beating a tattoo of nerves.

nerves

She can hear the wishers of spite
whispering, sneering, delivering splinters
of withering, scathing remarks at her back
behind masks of smiles and false friendship.

friendship

She hasn't been aboard a ship of friends
in quite a while.
Transistors in her head have picked up the
whispers, the predictors have spoken.

spoken

"She only got the promotion on her back"
"Like she has the qualities for the role"
"Well she does have qualities for a roll!"
"She does like rolling on her back!"

back

Back home, she sits at the mirror in her room
shivers whilst remembering the sniggers and
whispers. The slingers of whispers and dirt
have hurt too deep this time.

time

Time has passed, and the only dirt thrown
Is the handful by her sister, on top of the box
her sibling lies in, lies in because of lies.
She espies the work colleagues, watching and grins.

grins

Grins because it's not often you see the twin
of a suicide victim.
The victim of evil whispers, furthermore
she starts work in a week, with these weak whisperers.

**Killers

Death may come,
to some sweet souls
we know this -
much too quickly
there in a flash,
- in a heightened dash-
perhaps not even sickly,

Oh how that fate-
so mercurial,
it doesn't tell us -
so often why,
as we gaze in daze,
upon our solemn dead,,
an throw our hands up to the sky,
we ask of our dear stars above,
just why'd they have to go an die?

As we are really sad for only just ourselves,
we're just not ready to be done,
so stuck there in our bad goodbye,
still looking for the shining sun,
parting is such sweet sorrow
when it's with the only "one",

To leave the lovely Earth,
a blinking eye,
before to grasp a changing thought,
to look up in a changing sky,
for the answers dearly sought,
or even only wonder why,
it wiped away a life so fast,
and suddenly-
it seems for naught,

Her people they not with her now,
as she lay so broken and forlorn,
until the strangers come to call,
her death-
it was perhaps just a chance to warn,

To expire in a cul-de-sac,
as they circle 'round her now to grieve,
watching as they march as one,
to see the only way -believe,
believe me,
they come to only bid farewell,
not to punish or a bone to cleave,
as the body fails,
gone away - a binding heave,

As a rolling tube of rubber brings
about the ugly severed end,
and a hard black inflated reality,
it comes around the final bend,
barreling down on a tiny female life,
no hand to hold-
not one to lend,
but the birds they came,
with a message we should send,

Harbingers come in the quietus here,
they come to dance in sacred feather,
an some say rare and very strange,
and predictors of the coming weather,

I think that might be true, I do,
but what do circling wild birds
really tell?
circumnavigating the dead of Earth,
while in the sadness do not dwell,
and still I'm sure they are afraid of those tires,
but those fears they only quell,

They circle round to pay respect,
an she an enemy in their eye,
still they only ferry her,
an wish her home
a last goodbye,

A ritual of death and life,
performed before the alter,
a spirit sighs -a soul she dies,
her body could only falter,
death may come,
they fear it - not,
and I believe they still-
believe no hell is hot,

How?
How do these wild wild birds,
understand better than we,
some how?

Ma Cherie© 2017

.i never could find atheism satisfying, atheism being nothing more than anthropocentrism; it's nothing more. well, hell, back to the old model dispute: geocentric vs. heliocentric models... why wouldn't atheism be a thesaurus entry on the synonym level, and not be akin to anthropocentrism? pulling out balloons out of my *** like a clown... it later becomes something less inclined to a "dispute" about a "god" or "the gods"... man is still over-powered in instances where his superiority is critically diminished... the biological version of the botanic construct of mistletoe: which is the equivalent  of cancer... i always felt inclined to suspect the pop atheists... or the fact that insects, akin to ants, bees, termites, have a language dedicated to telepathy, just because they're small, doesn't imply that they're not "big"... there are rumours, that humanity wants to achieve a form of telepathy, rumours, nothing to get worried about... would i pray? no... i'd much prefer to study... but i am left dissatisfied with atheism: simply because it's pride in the anthropocentric argumentation... there's a fine line between anthropocentrism, atheism, and egoism... the "rational" cue would probably be associated with something akin to: the horrors of suspect... that beneath all the rituals of faith, there's a thinking contigency of suspicion... i rarely found someone who simply did-away with that fleeting sense of suspicion... and if i am suspect: this whole "thing" is suspect... the shackles of trust... what, akin to the laws of gravity? the creeping ontological predictability of general human affairs, akin to mating and dating? oh they're there... sure, and the sun will rise tomorrow, and this night will pass, these are no more laws of physics, as laws of trust... beneath which... gambling upon the predicament of the unfathomable, which is equal, to gambling upon the predicament on the already fathomable... i didn't exactly convert to judaism: i can't... if they circumcised me, i'd bleed to death... the best i can do is play the role of a ****** with a predicament, the nag hammadi library was unearthed... in egypt... and i became crushed by the gospel of st. thomas... that part where jesus takes thomas aside, and tells him something, thomas goes back to the rest of the disciples and they ask what was said, and he replies: if i told you... you'd stone me... right... so christianity boiled down to playing a game of ******* chinese whispers: he said, she said?! i guess that reaction was inevitable... given i already became a catholic apostate having read some gnostic works, and never became confirmed... well, it's like i was given a choice over my baptism, but with regards to confirmation? yeah, i took that **** seriously, even if i wanted i couldn't get a church wedding... i haven't been confirmed.

faux pas, "god"...
                   and all that non-existing
prayer "gone to waste"...
well...
    not really...
           blurry lines...
the sensible atheistic argument...
not when the argument is arrived at
from... a disposition of fear...
    rather than claiming some insightful
bias...
            suicide? tried that once...
hanging from a tree...
             the tree ended up being
chopped down...
but... strangely replanted
itself in my neighbour's garden...
now i watch it grow,
arch and cast a decent amount
of shadow...
                      if i'll have a dream,
i'll write it down,
   but i guess, most of the time,
            i'm plagued with "dreams"
of the grand void...
                an abyss that eats me,
where no images pass,
   no narratives...
                  no yesterday akin
to that story of paul mcCartney...
   no, just the sleep,
        and the grand void...
       apparently i groan and moan
in my sleep,
       i couldn't tell you...
              but i can tell you that
the "dreams" become so violent that
i am thrown out of bed
and end up waking up on the floor...
is it associated with the alcohol
consumption?
            perhaps... probably...
will i stop?
                     stop what?
                          it's this weird
assurance from a deity...
                        concerning suicide -
an unconscious fear
                                        of non-being...
tell that to someone who is
easily susceptible to a dream like water
infiltration process...
          "dreams" or rather: a lack of...
a momentary lapse into the figurehead
of ego in charon's empty head...
            groaning and being thrown
out of the bed, landing on the floor...
         i was right about
        the high blood pressure
genetic inheritance...
    how quickly that balloon head feeling
of an explosion disappeared
                      one mid-afternoon
               when i came off the pepsi...
talk about the aspect of the body
replying with an in-built barometer
                      faculty...
    old people always complain
about the atmospheric pressure
         doing a sadistic circus on their well-being
with regards to bones,
    and other body parts...
high pressure...
atmospheric high pressure and
they feel like ****...
   now take this and invert it onto
a canvas of high blood pressure...
      for once,
          beyond the headache sensation
of a brain - rarely felt -
   as if: the brain trying to find
an exit, and merge itself with
    a mind - that component of translating
brain, and the posit of a body
as a soul...
                headache: knock-knock...
body: who's there?
      headache: brian, he's going mental!
i guess the 1st tier of understanding
is gastronomical...
the 2nd tier being philosophical...
the 3rd tier having something to do
with all the current psychological constraints
and predictors...
         but the sort of "ache"
associated with high blood pressure...
brain turns all swiss cheese sponge
b'ah-b'ah...
                  the jaw dumbs,
   the tongue cannot be placed comfortably
in any position in the closed mouth...
and the teeth start to itch...
   not even chewing gum helps;
as ever...
             does it matter what i've written,
or does it matter, how i've written it?

The yellow stained blinds
Lead to the alley with no breeze. As I watch hookers,
Predictors, victims,
And the other lost cling
To railings drinking what they have.

The women are once again
Ready to feel the pulse of the bar, bleeding red and purple,
The back door open To the swelter. Bob Segar And Stevie
Nicks, Pasty Cline and Elvis.
I laid above the heat blanching the small window with the yellow blinds,
Beautiful and ******.

I stiffed what I could on the rent, pawned what I could,
Cigarettes and coffee,
A piece of toast,
The only meal for the day.
Sometimes a sandwich or a Hostess pie. A burger after
Two days hunger tasted like
Heaven on Earth.

Sometimes running out of smokes, you search the ground for half smoked butts,
Coming up empty.
No soup kitchen where you lived. Survival of the fittest friend.

And I let my poison arrow fly,
Finding it's trajectory through juke joints With women and music.
You lean into the bar, and the
Glint of the mirror provides the harsh ambiance to the racket inside the Black Rail Lounge.

You rode its tide to the one room above with the yellow stained blinds soured by
Still air and stale clothing.
And the small window let's
In yellow light and little air.

And you must rise this day
And go to work.
But you cannot rise from the bed. You can only groan
As the room spins, and shut
Your eyes to the bloated morning, with hot plates and coughs from other roomers down the darkened hall.
And the Black Rail beneath
With Janis Joplin and Fleetwood Mac, and the steady beat lulls you insane.
And you cannot rise to the task at hand.

But you must.

Marshalling your forces to
The bus and the El down
The ghetto streets of Chicago.
Past tenements and junkyards, hock shops and winos taverns, where you made rubber plates for box stamping. And the winos And barflies line the taverns along Skid Row. Mostly black,
All poor.
Beautiful and ******.

And the hand of God reached down touching my ravaged soul.
Lifting me in Love.
Beyond the Black Rail and the one room. I've since drank an ale on this first night of vacation, watching
The nightfall to sounds in the meadow, As the first firefly
Lights my Window in a time of Passion and Passing

Muhammad? fear a man with library of only one book? Muhammad? fear a man with only one woman as his aide... Muhammad: forgo the envy of Solomon... Jews are Jews: Mohammad: don't displace your dyslexia against the poet... Muhammad... fear the man: with only one woman... here! have my library: you will be a welcome son, the geek... the freak.. Muhammad... i give unto you: my library. now... to higher lessons! the flies are mad: Muhammad: Mucha: fly... mad in English: son of Beelzebub... you are not quiet old enough to claim a higher status against Christ... sorry... fear a man with only one woman and a library of books... scare yourself Muhammad: by way you become... who wrote the Quran if not the literate queen of Arabia business woman KHADIJAH... who wrote the Quran... who can complain about Islam the nest of chemistry and wasps... when the second world war climaxed... and the dead sea scrolls and the nag hammadi library was unearthed: and Islam became a liberal **** cammunist alliance of delusional people in a temporal displacement: Islam became ******! in a monotheistic system you can't tease polytheistic agonies: not drawing a picture of your prophet is just part of the problem: in a monotheism there is only the god and the prophet: but you are claiming that... there will be a protagonist and an antagonist... a dajjal: and a mehdi... and a jesus... sorry dear brothers: you reverted to a type of polytheism of the intellect: that the Christians don't have and the Jews are confused about, given their story of having experienced God en masse but then reverting to the sacrilege of the golden Taurus... sorry Islam: there is no monotheism without the god of individuals and the individuation of individualism as man and satan as his aid: the prosectur... satan is real and i have struck a deal with him: i enstrusted some affairs of my mortality with him: i trust him... satan: be my shadow... 8:33 Mark... Matthew 16:23... no... don't get behind me, adversary a self twin: did George Orwell invent DOUBLE-THINK? or did i, i forgo rereading books... i know of group-think, or right-think, or political-correct and i know of diversity: but i want to live among Polynesians i don't want to live among other Asians... curse me! be my shadow, satan: i'll befriend you: you be my prosectur in living hours while i'll be your lawyer: guardian, defender in the afterlife... how's that sound? is that a pact? you be my prosecutor in my living hour while i'll guard your defence in the afterlife?

i blacked out writing the poem: thrice?!
am i to be reincarnated a third time?
must it take three times?

Nietzsche ****** and Me
or Jesus Christ
John Coffey... like the insinuation
was:
who did the... Ezra: are you listening?!
i will tell you story
of America
as you came to learn
the history of Europe:
look where we are: Ezra...

i get told at work i'm the boss
i'm the G
and that works just fine:

i don't mean the spontaneous
combustion of ape
from what ape did the semi-ape
reject the bridge: the Erasor bridge
of wonders
what genocide we
did: against each other
that both ****** and Genghis Khan
are pale reminders...
i saw it in the eyes of a homie
i doctor from Poland:
a Kafkaesque poem of a character
so rigid in his cell
unable to practice medicine
mediocre crab bucket master
from Poland...
ooh: i revelled in his soul
as i then ate it...
and sacrificed nothing of my own:
no cleaner death
than the theft of soul...

... depends on how a rich people become:
Japanese are very rich
but very dented: weird: OSAKOHARAKI!
a civil contract:
there was this issue at work
father two sons
father old **** me beyond competing
with your boys:
so... their ******* grandmother...
ended up parting with him
imitating a lost *******
"lost"...
and shrivelled ****...
who was that guy who walked into
Japan's suicide forest and posted
selfies of a dead body
hanging from a tree? Logan: not Wolverine...
that character is the Anti-Christ...
Logan Wolverine is the Christ
and Deadpool the Antichrist...
so the New Testament was like
a speeded up version of the old testament:
like quick: the Jews are needed
to relocate into Europe
advance the European people through
greek slumber of Heraclitus utter:
the will to strife: becomes the will to strive
and in that transformation
comes the power: to will!

-

if men are from Mars and have to do:
in order to be
while women are from Venus and simply be:
in order for things
to happen around them:
so... not enough trees?
i can compenstate a story of a woman
with a story of a cloud, or a tree:
i see fish in the sky:
these swaths of underwater life:
i don't need to seek monsters
among the stars
trap myself with gods
and aliens and machinery
that there is: signatures of life
upon the sky:
done so somehow:
CELESTIAL  CHEMISTRY:
can you study the clouds for me...
can i make these semi-astronauts?
can you please study the earth
a bit better...
i don't need to put my flag on the moon:
perhaps for mining purposes...
i need someone to study the oceans
and the clouds...
not predictors and engineers of
people living in tornado
and hurracan avenues...
i want people to study clouds
and if i'm wrong about clouds being
the representation of how much
life sooths the point of preserving
a consciousness of existence:
as mobile as possible:
if we are to challenge ourselves to a post-existentialist
boxing match...
we have the arenas...
the observant 3rd Wave Migration Project...
but this pencil neck pusher of a "doctor":
how does social benefit work:
i delusional in thinking
i write these words for free while
getting the cRown's Employment and Support
Allowance:
i made it quiet plain:
i will dutifuly due this personalised propaganda
piece:
but only if i pretend to be mad
or at least understand madness:
yes i will become a bouncer
a poet-bouncer...

war has changed: it's all on informational bias
and basis of confrontation with comics
counter movies:
left comic books with the people who
didn't understand Nintendo and Atari and Comedore...
i can will people to
will me:
four days with crab pinching at my liver...
Oasis reunited: i talked
about Taylor Swift's bussiness model for
about 3 weeks...
subtle mimic of the Abba arena montage?
testing the real with fakery?
en masse as humans we do that:
fake it until you make it: pinch pinch:
crab clutter and pincer cluster...

this ****** is from Poland... Michal SZCZ'RZ... whatever
and... only now the ***** start climbing
out the bucket on dead bodies
of their fellow countrymen? Katyn: deserved to
have happened...

i was cannibalising my liver with anger:
it didn't hurt: as a male
my neuroticism is not a feeling
but a sensation: that's how men and women
differ:
how far have you fallen:
so abridged on the cross...
such fiction: climb down... dear actor:
we need now only to pretend who
directs the intellect behind
a Christ and the Green Mile:
Mile End:
two favorite stations of London:

Baker Street
   & Liverpool Street...

those are two of my favorite stations
Gants Hill: **** it...
that's my most stable port
no confict...
and two favorite lines:
the District and the Metropolitan lines...
Green and Claret:
no not Bakerloo Khaki...

with the power: to will:
i can... finally go beyond good and evil...
via... Jacob had the stairs leading
up:
me? i want to go into the Nevad... the Nevad...
the neverending will to understanding:
to return as a knowing creature...

the person who discovered Coca Cola
was Dr. John Stith Pemberton....
so no Jefferson, plague: pardon: so true...
but the owner:
the carbonated caramel drink
on one mile green...

i ask the question: a knocking on the floor:
an old man can't own up
to once being young...

*******... search engine: i saw what i was looking
for in the first place
it wasn't the pharmacist
it was someone wearing a boater...
  hat: not a kippah:
how there was a period of imitating Jews
and then came the Weimar Vanity
like the current Waking no Hour project
that is not so much viable as hetrosexuality
is being Apocalyptyically Undermined

just before sleep:
i think that's how you compenstate not reading
the book: adapted into film...
you have to rewatch the movie
with cut-off points...
today i finally managed to finish
watching the Green Mile:
i forget and forgot:
simultaneously...
to forget and i forgot...
pronouns can play such a crucial
problem for idiots who don't understand
grammar:
and how that sentence alone
proves the points that pronouns
are not... well: it's not like anyone
in Poland decided to
tear down the chimneys brick by brick...
of Auschwitz...
that argument no argument ad hoc cna still
be made...
how i utilize a pronoun is how
COGITO ERGO SUM exists...
withouth a mouth's full of ego...
                  these people are struggling...
i'm not making fun of them
these people are on the cliff's edge of understanding:
the great gap:
so the samurai chimpanze
and the wrestler gorilla
and the philosopher orangutan:
would have been as wise
or stupid:
for the slave trade to exist:
we only exported the idiot strength to
conjure America
and jazz was somehow just happenstane
to break from folk:
rememeber the rulers never used to have
music...
there were only deliberations
and tactics: talk talk...
rulers only discovered music via the classics
words congested into sounds...

the poor had music:
watch titanic...
look at how music is utilized...
when the Titanic sank...
rich people don't understand music:
no: rulers: don't understand music:
music is irrelevant:
apoligies Nietzsche:
from a pinched liver
to a sea of saliva and a toothache from
an iceberg... of a tooth...
it's not that i dropped the word rich...
without music life would make
no sense?
depends who you are within the confines
of music:
just a passive listener:
a Wagner's ******* and applause?
or are you...
the night-walker-night-eater...
i walk the night in order to eat it:
so as to illuminate...

   i have to conjure the German equivalent...
nachtwanderernachtesser...
            the green mile: i wouldn't mind
a... no no no...
all that is grand: the healing the feeding
of the people with two fish...
but... turn the other cheek?!
seriously?! can't you feel the earthquake
the dissonance: so otherwise,
law is a gimmick of oculus per oculus?
just take, *****! take it!
but no crime committed:
with persuasion a quake:
enough in the Green Mile to understand
the New Testament...

so we psychoanalyzed for a bit
while i waited for her to snore
and me allowed to not have *******
but who ****** these **** apes
that somehow man was spawned:
inferior in the capacity of body
to thus be injected these mutant harms
that also gave us
geniuses and the football crowd
of tribalistic men:
who ****** the monkey?!
who ****** the monkey?!
who ****** the monkey in order to create
the Key of Mammon...
this is a question of an angelic rhetoric-truant-theology

: well film:
sure... you can remedy not reading a novella:
thinking: it's Madame Bovary:
a long... a long novella...
but you can endure watching a film
based on a Novella:
if there is a screenplay...
and a movie to go with it...
i'm seriously underappreciative of Stephen
King...
i'm surprised that Noam Chomsky didn't
collaborate with Stephen Segal:
no no... forgot his name... Schindler's List:
oh: now i see it: Schinlder...
no... wait: lost the name: so maybe famous then...
but it's unlike Dune and
Lord of the Rings...
you can't exactly make a movie adaptation
of a book that dense...
i can show you a picture: teeth mould on the first
volume of Dune:
i want to get to Leto's narrative:
but the films made it impossible:
now if i want to read the novella for
Green Mile or the Shawshank Redemption:
i will not feel for persecuted by the film adaptation:
it will be unlike anything else:
i will be seeing the SKETCH:

herkunftgeschichte...

such a beautiful Friday night...
i don't need to bounce off people
and soulless:
but i can boa digest a soul of a Kafka
doctor narrative...
because i can: from the 28th that's
three days later:
my liver feels punched into a pouch
of resemblance to *****:
something necessary...
the binary of kidney:
can live with only:
but only one heart: one mind:
can live with one eye...

therefore the fractions are wholes
and fractions:
even numbers and fractions...
1 2 3 4 5 6
1 3 5
2 4 6
                                just thinking about what
five books to bring with me to Kauai...
Bertnard Russel's magnum opus...
Ezra Pound's Cantos? no! no! i'm in the middle
of writing a reply...
i still: blinked: who wasn't the pharmacist:
         Albert Hofmann's reinvention of the bicycle
in squiggly lines
too confined to brush on white a black
with color...

i see a resonance of red against blackness eaters
then flashes of green
in c=lage:
o=
             i see two wheels
working simultaneously...
0())(
and o=

                    now i see a poem
that could have been
now i see a poem that is:
and is to no ryhme:
and rhyme to the rhye of what is...

22:13....
i just forgot to party like an extrovert
and it's a Friday
and the metropolis is hungry
andf slaughter
is to be had...
but a girlfriend...
now wouldn't that be nice...
i forgot to put the music
but cycling is so different
in the gutter like the Jews
told to walk in the gutter
but i'm thinking:
what Darwinistic Sense Opt Out
we are surrounded
by the finalised testimonies of Evolution:
the fact that Ortangutans are
becoming extinct...
Earth is like the AustraliA
they just dumbed the idiot on this planet
retards: they i.e. us:
of the highest kind...
dumped us on this planet
they called Australius Apus...

what a vanity project: what hurt pride
of the sadist:
just a solipsist all along...
sadism and masochism are variations
of solipsism:
in Cartesian terms:
the res cogitans is the solipsist...
the res extensa is the sado-******* complex
to match: the military-industrial
complex of the ******* U.S.of>A!
get your woke back
get your woke back:
daddy's going to war!

I don't know
who I am now
But I enjoy this unknown path
I was all nice and simple before
Everybody hates it when
I say it as it is
I was digging myself a deep hole
by faking a smile with torn lips
I don't think that I am rude
I just have a bad ****** expression
Especially when one hides a devil
inside and act all pure
outside the box
I have to take care of what
I value most
But what is real won't be shaken
No matter how strong the cyclone is
I always change my story
Because there are good predictors
out there
Ready to find a weakness and destroy
with great profession

●○Buven ThePoet●○