"raiding" poems
Did you need something?
Sorry, I'm raiding
And I have plans with a friend
To do some high rank arenas later
"I can't right now"
Or
"Give me a moment"
And that moment turns into ten
Then twenty
Perhaps an hour that lasts a day
It's a horrible habit at times
But I don't regret where I spend my life
Twisted into the net
Immersed in this video game
Like an unhealthy addiction
Only it's not
It's my choice
You do your thing
As I hide behind this screen
Enjoying my time
Interacting with people
Over great distances
Whom I call friends
They don't judge
The way those around me do
Believe it or not
Just don't be fooled
By those creeps out there
But I promise
Good people exist
Over the net
You just have to find them
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
Granny.took a switch to me.
But I insisted on raiding the big mango tree.
The big rainbow ones hung kinda low.
The sweet yelllow ones were close to the limb.
They would sometimes come down In a huge carribean gust.
And splatter.
The young unripe green ones. Were my favorite. Treat.
With crushed habaneros mixed in with some salt.
Or mango. Sweet mango ice cream.
Oh. Yeah let me dream.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
Kashmir is not just beautiful
It was also free of violence,
Not too far back in history,
That did occur just 7 to 8 centuries ago.
Then they poured out of Central Asia,
Hordes getting bigger with each wave,
Eliminate they did the original people.
In 1320, it was Zulju raiding Kashmir,
Then Rinchana, a Tibetan Büđđhïst refugee, he took over.
Rinchana had Shah Mir as his Minister,
Shah Mir persuaded Rinchana to Islam.
After Rinchana, his son was set to be the ruler,
However, Shah Mir killed this lawful successor.
In 1339, Shah Mir became the first Muslim ruler of Kashmiri lands,
Initially, they did not dare harm the original Hïnđū inhabitants.
Then it was just Muslim kings for few centuries and slowly the Hïnđū heaven slipped into Muslim hands.
Now we know what is the ground reality,
The demography became Islamized over centuries,
All arts and crafts stand dwarfed by violence,
What they aim is an Islamic State, an Islamic Earth.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 7:14 AM UTC
High above dear Maple Street
There looms a cold iron curtain of fear
That dares to drop and let all the monsters
Unleash their dreaded promise of chaos
As in Europe despots gift a new World War
Trembling parlors hug the radio
Hallows Eve: the radio
Begins to sing throughout dear Maple Street
The Seventh Trumpet declares all out war
And that heavy iron curtain of fear
Eclipses the sun and invites chaos
In vacant hearts of men into monsters
Halloween Night: the monsters
Now dance to the tune of the radio
Raiding the stores, jumping bridges, chaos
Entombing the stretch of this blood strewn street
Parlors gorging on endless waves of fear
Riding hysteria, imminent war
O great catalyst of war
Twisting the minds of men into monsters
Diving your hands in that great pit of fear
Now throbbing with screams from the radio
No fences nor faces can save Maple Street
Now plunged in the throes of sweet sultry Chaos
And we call it Chaos
This boiling of minds all stewing with war
Once masked with humanity on this street
Now reveals good neighbors make great monsters
Skies of martians (n)or men, the radio
Hissing, twists the knobs and tunes in to fear
And when that curtain of fear
Draws, and shadeless light casts on the chaos
And the broadcast fades on the radio
And mere fiction rescinds the throne of war
What will we make of all of these monsters
Scattered about in a daze through the street
Where there are minds of fear and war,
Chaos reigns and calls to the sleeping monsters;
Tune in to Welles’s radio on Sterling’s street.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
We stalked hawthorn hedgerows,
Backyards our battlefields,
Wielding wooden swords,
Dustbin-lids, for our shields.
We scouted railway cuttings,
Long abandoned and disused,
Where friendship’s blended alloys,
Were cast, forged and fused.
We patrolled village streets,
Marched along muddied lanes,
Proudly defending ‘our land’,
From raiding, heathen, Danes’.
We boldly challenged Vikings’,
Beneath a Sixties-summer-sun,
Bonding loyalty, faith and trust,
That will never, come undone.
Those days will not return,
Memories-mismatched-truth,
Recalling the fallen heroes,
Fighting follies of our youth.
Protecting imagined Kingdoms,
Lost in time, for evermore,
Boy soldiers standing guard,
In Castles built from straw.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
On the strings
Binding mortals together, you lay your dagger
And set apart,
The centre that holds us together…
You set
Our household in despair
And unending
Tears and sorrows, you fill our souls and hearts with...
You are...
Yes, a silent murderer, surely, you are:
You invade the joy that fills
The household of mortality and leave endless mourning songs on our tongues...
In your presence,
Where is the refuge of mortality?
In your eyes,
What is the value of mortality’s breath on this earth?
From nowhere
You have stepped your feet in our territory
Draining breaths
And raiding souls...alas, you plant the seed of fear in our hearts...
You fill
Our thoughts with forts of weary
And crush
Our hearts with dagger of fatality…
You set
Deafening quake and pains in our souls
And wane the survival
Of mankind on this shore with your arrival…
Ebola—
You, innocent faced murderer
Who has found
A niche in the home of strong-but-weak mortals...
Ebola,
Many you have set on that Voyage Of No Return¬¬—
Their wails, alas,
We hear in the silent night as their bloods smell on your arms…
You are
A scare to our existence
For life is death
And death is life with the arrival of your presence…
Ebola,
You’re but, a thief of souls...
Murderer!
Ebola, O’ yes, you are a silent ******
You are
The silent murderer reaping our souls and setting down our household—
You are the murderer
Yet, feared to be approached by even the 'mighties'…
You are
An unseen beast; you’re a barbaric stranger...
You are but,
A silent murderer in our home...
We wholly
Hate you from the depth of our souls—
Dark or white,
Ebola, yes, we truly all hate you!
Oswald Okaitei
(World Poetry Theatre Ambassador from Ghana Project)
From WHISPERS OF A HEART
(C) 2014
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
Caution you speak, I'm so sure of myself.
Low line cinema in my house.
Raiding my brain and running late for a train that doesn't even exist.
You can touch so much yet feel so little.
It's things like this, unspoken words.
The ground beneath my feet shrinks every time we meet.
Sooner or later Imma lose it all and finally fall.
Right left up into your arm chair,
Sitting cozy with my tea.
Sort through memories and open safes with my code only in my head can you think the way I think.
In misty visions the wizard casts his spells.
In daily shadows you stay until the night time hides your evil eye.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Train spotted on ancient rail tracks
Mucks and grants on submerged pasts
Copper and ***** metal poles point
Upwards in heaven above the panelled tops
Price all the intentional conditioning
A paradise of self sufficiency
A dew of ranting , the metal raiding
Price the substitutional compressions
A timber frame of tunnels
The heightened temperature
Price and tag her beautiful mind
An attachment of glorified plinth
The punch of the chaotic medals
Pride and rearrange her plentiful plight
Show all her cast frame in crimson and greys
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
. tiky torches, and not football hooligan red flares?! i want gnashing teeth.... the red worm... i want the crude.... waiting feud!
you, don't, make,
dictum, in, this,
part, of, the world!
nein!
you, can, have,
your women!
but, not, the, ego,
of males!
**** you, and your
colonialist past
rewrite!
**** you...
dr. dre, ******
so no, what becomes
musicological
click-bait?!
****** ****** yo **
******* term
gets... owned?!
like *vomito *****
making reference
to the black plague?!
you do your ****** bit,
i do mine...
and we meet in the middle...
and then...
we crash and burn...
for whatever it's worth...
now catch me petting
rottweilers...
heavy headed
craniums...
ready to bullwhip
a gnash of a raiding bullish
cranium head-butt...
just, gagging,
to perform,
the jaw-swapping gnash!
sure... big, bogus,
jaw dropping crude...
of a count of teeth...
but...
i'm itching...
itching to fasten onto a feast
of a fist;
not in eastern europe, ******
you come here...
you play by our rules...
the whole
anti-rap...
the whole
hip hop scene of Warsaw...
no, not really...
i'm not exactly
part of either, "scene"...
god...
i haven't even allowed myself
to use edgy words...
girl worth a *****
but to succumb to motherhood?
i'm a heavy drinker,
i'm not exactly the moralizer;
wrap up, clean the shit-show...
and forget i even
managed to circumstance
a narrative.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
I live in Moshi,Tanzania,
As a child,one day I got lost,
A maasai took me to his home.
He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro,
His home was a kraal (hut)
made of stone,sticks and cow dung.
I cried for my parents,
So he fed me milk and blood from a cow,
He pierced a hole in the cow's neck,
He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood,
It was warm but I vomited,
Gradually, I got used to it.
The maasai's way of life is communilism,
Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle.
Theirs is an age set system for men,
The children look after the herd,
I joined them having fun,
No school, no lessons or homework.
Then,there were the Morans,the youths,
They wore black **** cloths,
Carried a spear in one hand,
Their faces were painted with white ochre.
They protected the clan and the cattle,
From predators and other tribes.
They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta.
After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare
The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich.
The senior morans could marry and settle down,
The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl.
The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors,
My maasai was a laigwenani,
Like all maasais, he was tall and lean,
He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes,
A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder,
He always held a long bladed stabbing spear,
His long hair was tightly braided,
He had ochre painted on his body,
He had no children and treated me like his son,
He would take me to teach the morans about warfare.
But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon.
The Laibons were the chief religious leaders,
They settled disputes,
They decided when and on whom to attack.
Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting,
A game warden found me.
He alerted the police and I was taken home safely.
But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
At eight weeks old, she was our newly rescued mixed beagle pup.
Noah named her Daisy. Not a name I would have chosen, but certainly as sweet as
memories of Grandma's homemade molasses
bubbling in the old iron kettle brought out from the smokehouse for only one day each year on a crisp fall morning.
By sixteen weeks it was evident that all involved in the rescue didn't know squat about Beagles. After a frantic thirty seconds on Google, our mistake was quite clear in the form of about five hundred red and black and tan photographs. We were the proud but red-faced and slightly shocked owners of a **** Dog". Yep. And Daisy was her name-o.
Two years and seventy pounds down the road, I sat in my morning solitude spot this day with a good mug and a good book watching the nut hatches, house finch, and Black-capped/Carolina Chickadees tearing that special blend seed up as Daisy patrolled the yard for squirrels with one eye and her nose to the sky watching for the lone and clever Rock Pigeon scout that always precedes the flurry of flying rodents raiding my feeder. I can't help but to smile as Daisy glances at me through the deck door glass to see if I am admiring her skill and diligence. I am.
This being a Sunday before the dreaded M word day, I tend to lounge lazily around the house in my worn Clapton pj bottoms and hol(e)y Langley T-shirt. My shadow follows me from comfort to comfort spot knowing that I leave a trail of odd snacks from my kitchen perch to living room couch to study to lazy bed, and back again. She is showing a bit of winter fat.
To be continued....
r ~ 9Feb14
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Let's love each other like children
lazing on the couch, raiding the kitchen
Eggos and Saturday morning cartoons
Don't need a marriage or a honeymoon
Cherry blow pops and dollar stores
playing with plastic dinosaurs
Cause we're of a different breed
This platonic love is all we need
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 10:34 AM UTC
Blister packs and Auld Lang Syne,
the rain-dance in the rain-forests
where no one keeps time;
the maypole, the bar stool,
the sunstroke pilgrimage;
the Superbowl commercial,
the secret raiding of the fridge-
all conforming to some routine
of half-comfortable bliss;
we stumble blindly through
our blueprint futures-
we borrow our happiness.
The truth is out there
if you look within:
the circadian rhythm,
the central nervous system;
the clamour of your mind
in the face of chronic stress.
The Lenders are out
in the crowds now,
with their placards of high-interest
amongst the indifference
of the street-meat vendors,
the numbered tables at the bar;
we spoil ourselves in the reach
of the so near's;
that we forsake all of the so far's.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
My brain is your atomic nuclear warfare paintings
All the while you face-lift X-box babies
Needle-thread we're dead babe don't you make a man crave
For things he can't quite understand but doesn't want to hit the hand.
Severance is fiction in the hands of friction,
****** deviance and erratic disobedience,
Covers the covers like a silk-screen layout
Jack it up and crack it up to be ****** up takeout.
Oh yeah? Well over we're starving ripping pieces off the mountains
Dentistry mythology, who needs a medical degree?
The label on the box said the tape was all in my head
But I don't hear a ******* sound except the fire all around
Grass is misleading and graffiti complaining
The AK is God here and through towns we're raiding
You think you got it so bad this is all the life we ever had
And don't you ever stop by cause our values are just alibis.
Okay, enough! This is all a double feature burger for here or to go
This is all a Catholic preacher in a Red Cross rodeo
Life is an airplane flying overhead carrying passengers with nothing in their heads
And turning all the lights out and pulling all the blinds down so they can't see the truth.
Disguise misguide and everything in between
Have you seen the ***** film with Jenna Haze and Jimmy Dean?
Garden salad, Diet Coke, check now and choke
Give us our bombs so we can run and go and rig the new VOTES.
Let me run it by the city council one more time
We're seeing flying cars and houses of cards and stumbling and tumbling
And rumbling and rumoring the hilarious splinter consumering
Maneuvering, assuming bottles fly with seagull eyes
The trees burn here like candy canes and run in the grass like membranes
Toxic fumes and entrails for reasoning and cold shame
Shudder at the thought of a shutter in a hot fuzz tee shirt worn by the slick insane
Generating heaterpuppy psychologic fragile now, undertow, the fifth row in the theater at the Apollo.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
Examining the accuracy.
Exploring the brightness.
Hunting for certainty.
Inquiring the directness.
Inspecting the lucidity.
Investigating the precision.
Pursuing purity.
On a quest for simplicity.
Researching transparency.
Chasing articulateness.
Frisking comprehensibility.
Going over conspicuousness.
Inquesting a definition.
Rummaging for distinctness.
Scrutinizing the evidence.
Shaking down the exactitude.
On an expedition for explicitness.
Working the legs towards intelligibility.
A perquisition for legibility.
A wild-goose chase for limpidity.
A witch hunt for obviousness.
Interrogating openness.
Probing the palpability.
Prosecuting the penetrability.
Racing perceptibility.
Raiding perspicuity.
Coursing the plainness.
Following the prominence.
Hounding the salience.
Meddling in the tangibility.
Prying into the unambiguity.
Reconnaissance in the cognizability.
Seeking decipherability.
Snooping for explicability.
Sporting limpidness.
On a steeplechase for manifestness.
Studying the overness.
Tracing unmistakability.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
Nothing to write, not today.. The words in my head just don't want to play,
And now my head is a wondering mess, with all the jumbled up **** that I posses,
Silence in my house is extremely rare you know? It's distractions and noise that are running this show!
Iv doodled some stick men and Iv yelled at the kids, who are currently shouting and raiding the fridge.
No fun to be had, not now any way.. Iv gotta clean up! It's all work and no play,
And now all I want is some chocolate and sleep! Or maybe some wine to ensure the release,
What I'm cooking the clan is next on the agender, something healthy and nice to keep us all slender?
****** that! Tonight it's beans on toast.. Nothing fancy not even a roast!
Mum's on strike, mum's not happy.. Going mad with each changed *****
But I'll carry on, ya know? "as you do" reminiscing of days when alone I went to the loo!
If your a poet parent you will know this too,
Writing with distractions is all you can do! X
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
Before air became gas
And water waste;
Before light became lasers
And fireworks cannons;
Before cars got wings
And trucks got tracks;
Before rafts were raiding ships
And we breathed underwater;
Before sticks were arrows and spears
And we exalted ourselves;
Before Empires rose and fell
And rose and fell,
A femur crushed Cro magnon's skull.
It's a marvel
How any of us
Are here
At all.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
shiver'd awake,
no rain-guard on your tent.
beautiful to see the stars
when that drunk sends you spinning,
but it got cold. real cold.
the two of you went for
cigarettes. necessary,
after a blur'd night
with raiding raccoons.
piss'd the night before,
piss'd the morning after;
you were right hungover.
while gone,
i built the fire to cook.
(that fire,
that fire was my baby)
rations were raid'd
by wildlife in the night,
left were a can of
chili and some fritos.
knifed the top off can,
began breakfast.
your return brought
cigarettes,
hair of the dog,
excitement at the day beginning.
mention'd dog hair,
available only after
raccoon raids and sinking cans.
night prior we weren't
as drunk as i think.
i remember. i guess.
it fix'd us up, though,
as our immoderate breakfast hit home.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:48 AM UTC
I am experiencing a problem with my poetry
I do not know what my next step will be
Wobbly
Stumbling
over syllables and web pages
I am shaking and vibrating
Spot light is blinding
on life's stages
I keep forgetting my lines
So I speak of shoe laces
in leveled metaphors
and the look of their flesh cases was ageless
Yet, I can't stand their faces
Not on this or that knee
It is anxiety
I thought it was mild but its becoming severely
annoying. Faults and fractures
flake my stature
like bark from a tree
Just start running
Evading
Something I do not want to face
Slave trading, soul maiming
while their raiding
I am hidden in the shading
of planets in space
We're all black in this place
No superiority nor disgrace
Just aiding
the next broken person
so they can have a chance in the race.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
Barbarians, and archers, and goblins oh my !
Restless in army camps for the raiding is nigh.
The builders are busy setting up my next plot,
Deciding where the mortar can pull off the best shot.
A chop and a cut, and voila ! More land to use,
Setting up decorations, all cast as a ruse.
I look to my shield, and the icon says “none”,
If I don’t request troops soon I’ll surely be done!
I prepare to attack, but don’t like what I see,
So “next” I press, and hope for a camp that’s easy !
Aha! I exclaim as I find a weak prey,
Gold walls or not, I’ll be claiming victory this day !
Giants come rumbling, to cause some destruction,
Followed by wall breakers to remove all obstruction.
With holes now aplenty, in come the rest of the crew,
To pilfer and plunder and do what they do.
100% !!! And 3 stars the finale,
Plus 35 more trophies to add to my tally.
Mission completed, I set back to my camp,
A smile on my face feeling like a real champ !
The day’s at an end so off goes the phone,
In the middle of the night I hear a familiar tone.
I reach for my ipad and what do I see,
****** ! I’ve been raided by PãRāß@pk !!!
With shields now up for the next 16 hours,
My resources are safe and I can upgrade my towers !
And thus ends the day’s tale of cast spells and flighted arrow,
Don’t worry Clash of clans, I’ll be back tomorrow !!!
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
The feminine voice finds many ways to my ear
It conceals its muffled words in droplets of water
Brushes against me while in tow of unknowing winds
Shrieking whispers invade my solitude
Masters of disguises invisible to young eyes.
I can never fall asleep as gently as I once could
Drifting into the safe havens has become a rough journey
Dreams have become a great escape rather than a warm embrace
Through battle they have my eyes hostage
By their command they unwillingly disallow rest.
As butterflies caught in a storm, my eyes flutter manically in their cage
In closed lids they pry and scratch in search of escape.
Never ceasing to stop looking they trap me in this limbo
Almost treacherously aiding the sexless voiced general
In his raiding my humanity for feelings to satisfy his troops hunger.
But they are disappointed more often than not
Self ruining feelings are all this soulless ghost army craves
A delicacy they tasted in me and fed on in greed
I am sorry, dear enemy, your momentary pleasure is over
This storage is running low from frequent raids of provoked panic and emotion.
This war has been long, and no longer appears a battle
More a dance well practiced, predictable every night
You have eaten all of what you desired, but fear not I have something left
Without catch nor trickery I give to you a message of kindness and savior-
It reads Your hunger will bring starvation
So let me sleep, or continue your attacks to your downfall.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
Amorous gaze still not returned
Still hoping just
Undecided
You'll just serve as the muse for a poem you'll never hear recited
Do I get entangled in the infatuation
The unrequited love, the obsession
Let his rejection send me spiraling into self doubt and depression?
Oh not I
Yes I will cry I will feel and I will write
Ill stare at the bruises on my inner thigh left from his bite
Ravenous
Raiding my temple
And me
Loving
Every second of it
Every angle,
Everything it meant and yes even everything that meant nothing
everything that meant nothing beyond that moment,
the hungry,
delightful,
destructive and wonderful moment.
collection of moments.
No, I've never been great at collecting.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
A mass ****** of killings.
It truly is, a wicked thing.
You'll never see us, surrendering.
Not until the war is over.
Thousands of soldiers, marching along.
What they don't know is, they'll soon be gone.
I've seen many men, go to war.
And I can't take it, anymore.
I'm not an adversary, to war.
Only when necessary.
Thousands of soldiers, marching along.
What they don't know is, they'll soon be gone.
Hope keeps them marching, fearless and strong.
But, they don't know that, they'll soon be gone.
Silence falls, over the battlefield.
The time has come, your fate is sealed.
We have to fight, we cannot run.
The time has come, the war has begun.
Thousands of soldiers, marching along.
What they don't know is, they'll soon be gone.
Hope keeps them marching, fearless and strong.
But, they don't know that, they'll soon be gone.
Thousands of soldiers, marching along.
Raiding small towns, during the early dawn.
Hate keeps them killing, fearless and wrong.
The government controls them, they are its pawns.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
the politicians down under
have just given themselves a wage increase
and the taxpayer would be far happier
if this kind of thing did cease
our members of parliament
are fattening up their pay packets
we the taxpayers are onto their
most unwarranted rackets
they tell us we must show restraint
in all of our pay rise requests
as the nation's finances cannot be held down
by these outlandish behests
yet they so love having the extra quids
put into their pay pots
while us taxpayers never get a single dollar
placed into our meager plots
the politicians are great at lining
their pockets with our hard earned cash
they have no conscience
when it comes to raiding the taxpayer's stash
next year those greedy politicians
will be crying poor mouth again
and us put upon taxpayer's
shall be feeling their wage rise pain
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 2:07 AM UTC
I find myself far gone, drifting alongside the beach
of some nubian kingdom
A sharp inhale of starlight and cutting holes
of awe,
she's there for me.
but,
Not in presence,
Red clouds limping through my comfort,
keeping me safe
far far off, in its tempered perfection.
Writing my fiction, one word at time,
biting into my rotten ear,
cracked surfaces of
sugar lined castle spires
pointing downwards,
In the paradox named perception.
Release!
Stretched out in our isolation.
yet I'm alone, becoming longer,
wandering,
raiding into an artificial night
Where no time appears to pass.
Encroaching on the expectation.
for food,
be it wanted or difficult,
for lips, ink nor illness.
The coast brings in
an ease that I drink from,
when dilly-dallying,
along the mad irreverence
of a random bed that you dream of
each time you wake,
each time you sleep,
There is no content in your bed sheets.
Spiralling in and out of information infection,
Oh how? Oh how can I sleep,
when I stand with my back to space?
Splaying limbs as they exert
the last beams of recklessness
- reverting to old habits,
obsession with erratics,
no form and no care.
Riddled with a chaotic mop head of stringed stupid.
How cute.
Juiced from his tender prospects,
intent on separation
entering use
**** bored and loose
Frothy white moaning flow,
tenderly crushing
Contingency.
I avoid moving inland,
for fear of peace of mind
Combing the canal with the brisk
jaunt of my limping legs,
unsure of themselves
in amidst,
the warmest blanket on the coldest day.
An old kingdom,
founded on consumption,
tradition and extraction.
We keep our distance,
I keep my distance.
Cold water minces around my feet.
Pith/Medulla.
Falling to earth,
beneath the sedge.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC