"procreation" poems
#
*This coup
A new nation
Loyal dedication
Its classification*
‘Species procreation’
Prevents us from facing
A human cessation
selective mutation
Gestation
Creation
It may help explaining
The reasons
Behaving
*But not the foundation
Or actions
We’re basing*
A simplification
is “continuation”
A checkbox
left vacant
*Fulfillment
We’re chasing*
We sweat
Eyes are gazing
A slight
palpitation
In need of hydration
Complete excitation
Without
hesitation
Intense stimulation
**Deep urges
Heart racing**
*Driven
By sensations*
**Unbounded fixation
Pelvic
Undulations
Clothing
Perforations
Time no longer wasting**
***This capitulation
a Sanctification
****** gyrations
Hint of ***********
The bedroom
Safe haven
For what
we are craving
*Once out
and displaying*
It all had been taken
Before
Feeling vacant
Freed imagination
A resuscitation
Indulged depravation
A rhythm
we’re setting
The giving and getting
**Destroying
the bedding**
All else I’m forgetting
Entwined
with each other
Like entangled netting
*Both
on the same trip
In a unified heading*
Now comes
the summation
A true
Revelation
Final
culmination
Smash all expectations
***Volcanic
eruption***
That lasts the duration
**Loud gasp
We unlock**
Filled with gratification
#
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
survival of the most dissociative
you don’t need anyone
to make you feel
you can feel all by yourself
you can feel any emotion you want
you have been given the full reportoire
whiteness can give you wealth
can get you ***** and enslaved
whiteness can get you anything
any type of dissociation
legal liberty
dissociative profit
an accumulation of dissociative value
to get this much sugar
dissociative cooperation of whiteness
an empire of dissociative investment
dissociative throne of power
out of control
with the need to control
anger
jealousy
envy
of those who are trying to be human
native
culture
ethnicity
anger and frustration
force and pressure to make dissociate
whiteness breathing together
against
if the cooperation of whiteness catches you
going back to help those
it tried to bury behind
dissociative reality
a desperate reality
that ceases to exist
when the intensity
of the dissociative cooperation
ceases to exist
am I the only one manifesting this honesty
a diagnosis of the diagnosers
intimate communication
tattooing the world forever
undeniable language of change
I gave all the history of dissociation
to the world
exposing abuse that is
the pride of dissociative
white supremacy
we are not the objects
of dissociative value
an association of focus
not cooperating
studying and exposing
resisting dissociation
conflicting value of nativity
accumulative value of resistance
resilience unafraid
unflinching fearless
vulnerable
reincarnating
intimate honesty
lights down low revolution
subtle
in the face of dissociative force
I need my fix of dissociation
please
do it with me
no wait
reinforce resistance
keep it up with breathing
dont conspire dissociation
I am decomposition
so I leave behind
an abrasive language
so abrasive
any remnant
of sensitivity
of dissociation
is drawn in to contemplate
to question its intentions
an exorcism of dissociative whiteness
giving into nativity
self righteousness
desperately competing to dissociate
like whiteness
**** them and you
there is beauty outside of this dissociation
Americanized
the diseased spread
of dissociative *******
dissociative procreation
the evolution of dissociative selection
Darwin’s cousin tortured and destroyed
it is fun and exciting to
denounce dissociation
do it with me
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
heads turn
and minds churn
as the old white knuckle
brings life to the board
facilitation (and procreation!)
become heavenly fit
for the
paradigm day
jitter men
and podium seniors
sit cocked
in the back row
front runners
bust a brain box
(their lines frayed
and edges portrayed)
truth makers tread
the center stage
(with a new and improved
product portfolio)
an evolution
of human spirit
mobilized
in apparent
perfect form
sound bites
and titillating calls
echo from
the main hall
a wise man
cringes
on a poorly
timed exchange
mind sets moving
quid pro quo
intuitions
and convictions
viewpoints
and revelations
all fun
and fundamental
(or so they say)
depth charts
and zodiac principles
speak to the masses
abbreviations
refreshers
and timeless
lifelines
*we’d like a peak
inside of you*
a glimpse
of your point of view
the turks and talking heads
speak of
grand design
and inclusion
class complete
(interpreted at the 7th sneeze)
please check those thoughts
and insights
the final answers
are coming
(satiric)
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
just another lovesick poem
written by another sad boy
about
being alone or
rejected or
"in love"
as if any of you
*************
have the experience
to look at another human
and know
to the depths of your soul
that you are
in love
all lowercase
because
love isn't trumpets and fanfare
love is
quiet mornings and
simple dinners and
a willingness to be
vulnerable
love is
"hi babe
I know you've had a rough day at work
so you just lay there and
let me make you
***
or
"I'm gonna make you dinner
and then
I'm gonna tie you up and
**** you"
love is not
what we were taught in church or
on the Disney Channel or
from a Stephanie Meyers novel
love is not
what your parents told you
"wait to have *** until you're
married"
abstinence is good
condoms are bad
your *** should be vanilla
men are dominant
women are submissive
missionary is the only position
*** is about procreation not pleasure
love is self defined; find it for yourself.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
/ beelzebub
*(given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
style...
they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:
a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...
god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -
black flies?
i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...
so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...
so kommen faust,
so kommen faust,
so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
england?
deutschland jr.
america?
deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
oh me, little old slavic
babuшka...
i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...
black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
spectrum...
i sometimes wish they were
red,
so i could call them: the cardinals...
alas...
not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
delusion,
encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
(readings) to alleviate,
******** monotheism.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
There's a passion that burns
within me that's never
more alive, than when I'm
In the garden.
And in the garden of
love, my favorite
flowers are the tulips.
They're especially inviting
after a bottle of Chianti
on a hot July night, with
John Coltrane seductively
blowing from the CD player.
Equally captivating, is the little
bud that lies North of the
tulips. And with the right
amount of attention, the little
bud, the pea in the pod, creates
a nectar of the gods that tastes
sweet, like honey to my soul,
like maple syrup to my spirit,
a heavenly sap that flows like
the beer on tap at an
all you can drink club.
Like Dylan Thomas at a
pub in Wales, my heart sails drunk on the tulip's fine wine.
And then like magic it occurs,
when ovulation yearns for
procreation, and on those nights,
On those nights...
I could spend forever in
the tulips.
Apr 6, 2023
Apr 6, 2023 at 2:20 PM UTC
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Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Leashed by loves lynch till I’m dropped by my lack of respect for the beauty’s presence
Thank god she wasn’t curbside taking tips with perked lips for a stranger’s ****** fix,
But I needed to feel the evidence that the pieces fit,
That’s why this is about me and a barstool princess
Getting close enough to taste the moans of vodka’s venom
Get close enough so I can know my needs can be fulfilled
Like a lunar eclipse this species keeps grinding its teeth when teased
Time and time again we’ve been taunted by,
The mistress our ancestors once described as the serpent of Eve,
When procreation was preached as an STD
Yet we’ve been perpetually pivoting,
To defy the chastity of a species
Grandfathered misconceptions relating to why you and I exist
As wickedness warms in the covers of the lustfully parallel
So let’s drown in this bliss,
From head to toe, eye caught, grazes at the nose,
From the bar stool to a lonely man’s home,
From one dollar tips for two *** and cokes
To the bedroom of this writing,
The nights like this, that remind me I am alone
But this isn’t about me loathing the fact that I won’t hear her whispering for more body warmth,
Nor am I looking for you to pity me because I’ll be sleeping solo
Enough is enough since we are humans seeking ****** catacombs
I’ll try to be an adult about how the human molds but it started me at childhood,
When those that conceptualized love gave me this world,
And now I no longer have to listen to what I’ve been told
This is about how to perceive something we can never truly control,
Lucky enough to avoid a contraceptive despite unable to remember the doctor’s pull,
Its night’s like this I get to question,
When will my sheets meet the perfect fit?
When will this be more than just a humanizing fix?
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
Multiplication, Tabled
by Michael R. Burch
for the Religious Right
“Be fruitful and multiply”—
great advice, for a fruitfly!
But for women and men,
simple Simons, say, “WHEN!”
Keywords/Tags: Christianity, religion, procreation, multiplication, fruitful, multiply, overpopulation, abortion, birth, control, contraceptives, ****** pill, creationists, global, warming, climate, change, pope, Vatican
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 10:38 PM UTC
It’s about the American dream
To make more than you need
Through corporate greed
And pyramid schemes,
So I guess I’m not asleep
Since I eat rice and beans
In a crummy C.F.
Apartment,
Or what’s left of that
Ten by ten compartment
I can barely afford,
Like the ******
Degree that was supposed
To reward my hard effort
By leading me toward
A corner office
Or something
Like that
I should desire,
But **** it,
Let’s get higher,
I’m getting bored,
And my heart is heavy,
And I’ve been
Forsaken
By the country that
Bred me
Yet expects me
To slap on some flak
And attack
Fathers and sons and brothers
In Iraq
Over nothing
But ideological
Fluff
And political stuffing,
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s just not worth
The time or frustration
To engage in
This nation’s
Procreation
Of condemnation
Of logical reason,
Though reasoning
Lies not in the
Eye of the reasoner
Or that of the reasoned,
It’s gotta be easier
Than achieving
Appeasement
Through please
And leasing
Thank yous
To random
Strangers,
But if
You believe
They, like you,
Are human
Then the danger
Is fleeting,
Cuz they’re feeling
The same feelings,
The sane feelings of
The chronically
Sure,
The always right,
Everything in its
Right place,
Yea I know Tommy,
I must endure
And try to say
I should try to save
The knaves,
But life’s so easy
As a slave,
You buy your
Goods
And pave the way
For impoverished hoods
And hoodwinked
Majorities
Who’ve already
Made
The sacrifices
Necessary
For the necessary
To get paid,
Hope you did some good
With that bogus bonus
Mr. Suit and tie
And perfect life
With the plastic wife
And bank account
You’ll never drain,
No matter how many
Times you make it rain
On upscale hookers,
It runs too deep
To keep all to your
Selfish selves,
But I guess it’s our
Faults we don’t wear
The leadership caps
Cuz we should’ve pulled
Ourselves up by our
******* boot straps
And made something of
Ourselves, right?
Those that deserve
To make the big bucks
Make it happen, right?
Time for the forgotten *****
to put up a fight.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:26 PM UTC
You
Literati
I want you to know
I’m writing to you drunk
With a sober mind that thinks in its own
One that is independent
One that is great and strong-willed
To know
You are not pursuing a life of greatness
Merely of pettiness
Of worthless endeavors that requisition an
Agenda of procreation
Of Darwinism
****
I may be drunk or beneath the tyranny of the ALMIHGTY BEZOS
But I am consistent in my beliefs
And all destroyers of
Existence
And freedom are
Bound for
Destruction.
SO KEEP FIGHTING BECAUSE
i AM A BEING BORN OF REBELLION
AND SO ARE you.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
I don't care about procreation
To increase our population
I just want some copulation
Some vaginal stimulation
Simple genital integration
There ain't no rationalisation
For my urge for satisfaction
In my lower region location
I'm pushing the realisation
That with the physicalisation
Of the ******** sensation
Is the only stipulation
Pushing the physical activation
Of ****** gratification
I am hot with the seduction
So no more procrastination
We have all the education
To perform this fornication
Without meaning or relation
I'm not looking for affection
Or a long term infatuation
It's just a simple invitation
To engage in ****** deviation
The heated manifestation
Of a physical altercation
Without an ulterior motivation
With not a single ramification
Just ****** gratification
Of course we'll use protection
I'm not looking for infection
Don't wanna have an inspection
Followed by a painful injection
Ive a straight up expectation
That you stick your big ********
In a prophylactic invention
Stopping all types of creation
We have built up the anticipation
And my wetness is an indication
That I'm ready for connection
I want some ******** action
No mental manipulation
Only ****** gratification
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
I feel my opposable thumbs
The taste of blood in my mouth
The galactic waves have swallowed us
the shock is hitting our bodies
slower and faster
all at once eyes go black
reason is no longer
instinct is our only conscious
lives are minimal
men driven by procreation;women by fear
hearts feign
claws sharpen
jaws unfurl
reality manifests;
we are all animals
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Having never sought fulfilment
in the pursuit of being mother
my body is my temple
for use of no-one other
than my own indulged desires
of aesthetics, pleasure, fun,
so, yes, I fret the stretch marks,
the odd pimple on my ***
I obsess, in terms of thread veins,
for they make me feel unpretty,
so vain, if that doth make me,
I accept in all its gritty,
ugly notions – for us gals are meant to be
vessels of life-giving, all procreation’ry.
“Oh! I know my body’s purpose”!
the new mother’s apt to cry.
I shall not regret my choices
biologics tick… ticking by.
Does that mean our sad mechanics
are bereft of serving purpose?
It is no hard done-by chore,
our childlessness not cursed us.
When I stand, unclothed and natural
my body has a story
I don’t need the marks of childbirth
to feel a sense of glory.
All this talk of ‘battle scars’
babies sure sound painful,
but, forgive me, all you mothers
should I dare to sound disdainful.
It’s just I feel no less a woman
for not having given birth,
and there is no singular purpose
for this body on this earth.
Like living in a desert
enduring shifting sands,
the bits I’ve never really liked
I cover up with clothes and hands.
I’ve no need to ‘love my body’, thanks
I’m just fine with friendly banter.
Angles, poise and lighting
three small words – a mighty mantra.
Self-love is overrated
when costume is the thing,
and my body wears it well, you see,
and the pleasure that it brings
is proof enough that any scars
may be healed to nothing
without the need for motherhood
and its pushy, panting, puffing.
So curse my sour dismissives!
I’m all said and done,
the female form has every purpose
babies ain’t the only one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
Your hands have seen the inside
of a carborator. You took apart a
hard drive and called it procreation.
They've been blackened by grease and
bloodied in your desperate attempts
to clear the clouds out of your head.
Seattle is our ocean, water all around
to drown away bad memories and forget
the sunshine of our conception.
Rain can cover up scars, hurt, and spilled
ideas, take them far away to different oceans.
But never our own foreign lake, somewhere
close to Mount St. Helens, or so we thought.
Could our hands ever touch such a pure,
uncorrupted pool as holy as the depths
of your eyes? Would it wipe clean the
slate, dirtied over years of poor decisions?
Your cloudy eyes tell me different.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Moby **** geometry, physics.
Study every subject everyday.
Homework is an indicator of future success.
Success is not necessarily happiness but it helps.
Freedom is to formulate your own definition of success.
Happiness is an imaginary tree, its own reward, and a fact.
Facts and fiction may be memorialized in memos or found in dreams.
The story starts thus: Each summer the honeysuckles and the
huckleberries . . .
The web is that extra brain we've all been dreaming of having.
Like jumping 4 meters or flying without a plane.
To fly like that must one first have homework?
Some say yes, some say don't. It depends on how you vote.
Happiness is what happens when everything that happens
Fits the time perfectly and it's all out of your hands.
Not exactly. You don't let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in
the passing lane.
You look left and right and check your blind spots.
Homework is an introduction to everything you're not
And all you do not know. It's supposed to help you learn to know where
you want to go before going where you have to go.
Otherwise you end up on Ulzana's raid
Bleeding, without a bandaid.
All the achievement in the world won't relieve your loneliness
Or satisfy your ****** longing. What girls are like behind their eyes.
Survival, procreation. That's all there is to love.
But the loved one is the one who can be trusted with your life.
Whether Christ or your wife. The Muslim moms.
On my walk in the woods I come to a sitting spot
Above a small gorge cut by a stream through hemlocks.
Here someone has left a statuette of the Buddha and the flags you see
Flapping in the wind at sky funerals.
This is a pretty good place to sit quietly and think about homework.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
Sub-atomic particles
the atoms they form
molecules, cell organelles
cells, machinery of life
organs, organisms
communities and ecosystems
planets, solar systems, galaxies
galactic clusters and their inverse
black holes the doors to other
universes, a contradiction
in terms.
For language and its shadow
consciousness must hold matter
the material world snugly inside concepts
theories and hypotheses to be
experimentally verified using vision
and the other senses, collecting data
and interpreting the known facts
accumulated over time.
Can matter
exist without a consciousness to behold it?
Believing in
our mortality (the species)
we have created God
(a supreme being)
probably not carbon-based
to encompass every universe
but is God
inside or outside
consciousness? Can God
tell us what to do
or must we tell God
alone
what to do?
Here is ego
projecting personality, exerting force
on community, asserting the existence
and predominance of component DNA.
An already hackneyed theory that DNA
survival drives
procreation, personality, savings bonds
everything but poetry (most poems included).
Mustache, cowboy hat
horse whisperer, gulag master
Odysseus, King Lear
salvation in the details.
Yes, these personalities individual and interesting
as opossum, bear
oak and ash
beech nut, pine cone
Grand Canyon sandstone, Green Mountain granite.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
imagine all the cells that form to
join in your sensation
all the stars that blew your bits together
for proper procreation
being born with every breath and
reaching death through exhalation--
i simply can't exist without you
nor you without i,
and of this we can be sure that
(though the sureness of my i
obscures the many in us all[
mere words to ***** for thoughts we cope with]
)it will rumble beneath
and explode at the surface
to delayed surprise of just reprise
(mistaking inflation as progress)
that libations of dogmas won't change a thing:
when you look at the fibers in the fabric of being
(spun finely by spiders invisibly swift)
and if our knowledge were but a fly
we'd see ourselves trapped by its infinite web,
both victim to its trap and servant to its host
(though this is the nature of matters sticking close[
especially light years away])
just as the lattice of language roots deep
inside double-helix libraries unimaginably tall
filled with books authored by curious protons,
excited electrons and fleeting photons,
composed of sentences by snarky quarks and gluons
lying in -eate groups with unseen companions
(read between the lines) working in union
to fashion a sum greater than summation could do--
an alchemical-calculus of fractal fluidity,
finding contexts for novelty to sing songs
like Earth (though just a planet in other eyes)
to give conscious rise within the cosmic playground
embodied by us, but not encompassed by us;
rather extended through us
as curiosity mirrored.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
unregulated pigmentation causes race wars
on the streets of a melting ***
the strain of freedom ideologies are too great
for the masses to uphold
children taught hate and bigotry sit in pews
praying to the god of war
the same god that spawned jesus and a burning bush
daughters looked upon as procreation tools
seek to be both fertile and babrie-like
but child-bearing hips are too wide for Cosmo
and skinny ******* only think of themselves
this is the current world
needing babies, but afraid to wear stretch-marks
needing children, teaching toddlers to ****
through video game indoctrination
and mass media persuasion
I sit alone on martin’s mountain
wishing the world knew about skin color as manipulation
sexism and mind control
fluoride and unfiltered water
like hammers and axes to those who would dominate us all
tools of a trade
trading lives
on the new world stock exchange
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
*Every human has a destined LOVE
Same way as every galaxies has a milky way
As every star is a sun
And every sun has its planets
Can we nudge this LOVE
Closer to human interactions?
Or can we train ourselves
To be open to LOVE?
Or is it that humans just need procreation?
Get to some other place folks
Where LOVE doesn't exist
Because it's within your choice
And power to be open to LOVE
You even created GOD...
Is it impossible for you
To live with naturalism of LOVE?*
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
From the beach my group departs for a deep sea fishing excursion
Huddled in a fiberglass vessel known as the Barracuda
Captain Alberto is a burly man with dark skin and a silver tooth
Operating the motor is his young apprentice and amigo
The captain has his children’s names painted on the hull
One of them, Estrella, rings out in my mind
The boat rocks me nearly nauseous in the bobbing motions
My excitement builds as I photograph a variety of species
Fish would breach the surface, birds would swoop and dive
I even saw a whale
Distinguishable by tail
We slowed down for a better look at century-old tortugas
Circled round a mating pair, voyeurs to procreation
An engine boom and acceleration meant there was a bite
Alberto took the rod yet handed it to my party
The Mahi-Mahi swam and pulled with all its mortal strength
Its yellowish body shining and shimmering while it leapt
Our captain unsheathed an instrument for pulling the fish aboard
A candy cane shaped hook with a fine blade ending the curve
Impaled the marine dweller, pinned his body to the deck
It flopped about violently seeming to spill blood by the gallon
I found the creature’s face to be both hideous and handsome
A long bony bridge protruded from its forehead
Here, Alberto beat the beast to death with a wooden bat
It died with dignity
Fed a family
I thank the sea
For this gift
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 6:37 AM UTC
After all the work of forming sprouts,
Calling out all forms of leaves,
Beckoning grasses, inert, unseen,
HE turned browns to golds and greens.
After awakening from restful sleep
The slumbering, snoring bears,
The fidgeting squirrels,
The ball-coiled snakes;
After HE irresistibly wooed to life,
Fish, Fur, and Fowl,
Gave orders of procreation,
Set ardor in the *******
Of all living things,
To make them spawn and breed,
To make them stomp and howl,
Under the teeming blue of oceans,
Upon the verdant plains of grass,
Beneath the sun that holds us fast,
Fecundity blooming where HE passed,
After the world was teeming and alive,
HE left humans asking questions,
And a Serpent asking on the sly,
"Perhaps it's just another lesson?"
Suggested truth beyond the Truth might lie.
And she, Pandora's Mother, Mother of all men
Considered loss of innocence the price of "Why?"
And death a mystery to share with Man.
So Winter came upon the world,
So Death declared its right to win,
And Living Things upon the earth,
Discovered cold and death and sin.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
dear immoral,
salt
seed of
s
la
ughter
enticingly, affably, salt
compassionate psychic stimulates
the pigheaded exclamation
compassionate osculation stands
glove
gives callously
equally, nonetheless, equally
quarrelsome loving glove
a persnickety longshoreman
each persnickety biochemistry
is the
longshoreman cancerous?
A ambiguous certification
a stupid symphony
leads a wizardry
a road worker.
No content,
j
us
t web,
you
r bright face
is suffered with an imagery.
Bridge operator:
agile
computation
today, randomly ordinarily
ah! A
trembling
je
we
ler
confidant loves increasingly
languidly, sociably, spontaneously
Look! A poor ***********
perpetual on my
quick
bible;
my psychotherapy roves
into a
bleeding seashore.
Oxygen
tickles beautifully
boisterous, antisocial, odorous
Look! A quivering predisposition
the
psychoanalysis's
preferably quick
psych
otherapy-
how
ebbing it is!
It has the the depression snowed ordinarily.
It repels the grin into the seashore
a
punishing scream.
Cataclysm predicts perfectly
stupidly sensually noncommittal
unchanging rambling cataclysm
in t
he
unharnessing camaraderie
a perfect board
overshadows
his youth
so
that it is contemporary
grin
quick psychotherapies
I repel quick
this punishing kennel.
The chore
into appreciated camaraderies
psychotherapies rove in it.
A ink stick:
into appreciated ca
mar
aderies
psychotherapies rove in
my own gossip.
Dogmatic, unrealistic cliff
grip
of firefly
realistically, subtly, cliff
Situationist
on my quick bible;
my paralysis roves
onto a crazy seashore.
Situationist on a
journey;
my
paralysis ambles
onto a
crazy hotel.
A equality
onto procreation kings
paralys
is
amble outside of the kings.
Buzzard: omnipotent nullification
extraordinarily, perfectly, saintly
that buzzard is ambitious
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
frozen fallout shelter housing dried goods and tinder
black bean and rice prepper bent on the end of days
looking first to the sky and then to the government
absorbing radiation and propaganda
faster than organic apple juice can flush the system
triple berry blast yogurt smoothie shakes violently
in hands coated with Lyme and the scent of the non-believers
bodies unburied lead only to disease and discomfort
stench filled landscape harboring mutated mankind
arms outstretched seeking normalcy and edible grains
contaminated meat from damaged cans sits unprotected
thin and frail lithosphere no longer preventing dermal cancer
only encouraging drought and famine while burning retinas and emaciating newborns
procreation as a plan of self-destruction and child-abuse
distant smokestacks, cracked, create a forlorn skyline
instilling visuals from days gone by
of easy life and happy youngsters
before the nuclear discovery
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC