here i stand, in this bleak and forsaken place
    the crackle of fire resounding ceaselessly in my ears
    a hot desert sun beats down on my head
    making the valley burn like a furnace

    the slow burn of my anger
    it consumed me like a ravenous beast
    i fed it more and more
    the memories that rankled and burned like acid

    my tongue, it cleaves to the roof of my mouth
    and my eyes have ceased to tear from the grit of dust
    the harsh cries of crows are mocking me
    raca! raca! their never ending mantra

    i called you an immense fool
    my gross assessment of your character
    kept me blind and deaf
    unaware of the fate that awaited me in the valley

    my body, desperately crying out for some relief
    in this vale that mourns the blood of innocent children
    nearly falls to the ground in its feebleness
    who can wash me clean from my sin?

    i had the chance to be clean
    but i kept my pet, my utter resentment
    cuddled up to my chest
    where it gorged itself on my soul, piece by piece

    i beg mercy of Him now in my despair
    my heart leaden in my chest
    it’s then that i feel the first drop of rain
    as the doors of heavens open on me
    a holy and purifying deluge sweeps in
    it washes away the guilt and shame
    and there in the midst of it all
    i find myself in the hollow of His hand.

Quiet, or you miss the promise kept
by we, the people who hold the yesmen in chains egon-wize

Cuomo Opens Poetic Door Looses Zeitgeistical Cult of QAnon

everybody wants your vote, nobody wants to read my ****

so if you do you could be like so
this is easy,
we have taken every test,

passed all the rituals, learned the steps to the rose dance
morphing from the lilac dance which is longer

in the years when the manzinita shed
more bark to make the fiber for the best baskets ever tested
best
being relative you perceive in as, as in may be the global brain is
friendlier than the kids in the 1950's happy days,
could imagine after they wore the tie

yeah we just missed that, my generation,
barely missed disco, too.

beat the rap, survived the crap, got old on rumors of war.

Huawei, wu wu wu wei we go,
peace versus war...

who one last time? What are the odds?
There is a flood in Bangladesh,
Warholian fame,
back up to 3 centuries
must be the melting of the ice. Who is making this
seem life-like,
as real as any vision in any kiva, vista vision, without which

internet of things

my people perish, and I am at the white page, once more
turning to the business page
three of the world's biggest banks set aside, as in, did not count
as profit,
just in case. Eh. We qui quinonaqanonic grain eaters,
we set a scene, the stage
observed off stage, obscene as you know,

when you see it it is as if you are here, in the book of life
where you witnessed all the evil any one like you could do

if you had your own way, you coulda been Besosaurus, or Sam,
but you went walkabout
and now you say

you learned how peace is made, while being good for nothing.

Ironmanmeyes yesyses I said, while being, actually being virtually
real
as any deed you wisht you did, but did ent, earily close
but
missed still counts, you fired,
you pulled the trigger on the trap you set and Broncos are back,

life goes on, the richer are as rich as ever and the hermits
are as happy as they ever wished to be

Cuomo is a graphic artist, a meme maker,
who new a lysurgic imitation
of
what? HELLOHNOMYGAAAACH-you

deny my power? Fool. Raca-ist, too. Dimensional missed shifter

making some old lies do double time,
the center cannot hold,
Cuomo is a zeitgeistic antenae in radiolandmentis psiscience-osis.

Any idea can be a plague these days. Give 'er a go.

Antediluvian condition, sayzz the New York Times, cut the drip
drip drip
bene fits as we approach 6% solution,

with full disnification in the internet of things allowed.

Tinker bell may be the voice in your GPS if you can imagine
Suzie Creamcheese dating me and being
the operator who once connected me to you

we were walking to chicago, remember?

"On the far end of the trail of tears." today, a native son
sang of a promise kept,

and here we sang along, before we knew he sang, we knew the song.