"reasonably" poems
Went to my magwinya lady today,
she's contained at the canteens on north campus,
As she rose up her left eye was bluish ****** grey,
A lump in my throat formed not as big as the one on her face,
my eyes secreted their salty solution,
my mind quickly processed confusion,
"M-m-m-m-may i-i-i p-p-lease have five magwinyas"
She smirked at my muttered utterance as she began to fill the thin transparent plastic with the oily flour-filled *****
I reluctantly asked "What happened to your eye?"
She responded in Xhosa reasonably assuming my common cocoa coating meant our tongues matched until I told her otherwise.
Eventually she simply said, "Fight".
I said, "you got in to a fight?"
She said "Mmm".
I went over to my banana lady and said the magwinya lady has a black eye and she casually claimed, "Her boyfriend beat her yesterday."
Confirming what my teary eyes and lumpy throat knew to be true when I saw my sweet magwinya lady with a swollen eye ****** grey and blue.
Frustrated at the nothing I could do.
Powerlessly pirched on a brown bench as the black sparrows chirped pleading for a piece of my last magwinya,
Should I tell her to escape?
Is that even my place?
How many black eyes are blotched on this bruised land i, a fearful foreigner, trace?
I'll bury my brain in my book,
somewhat cowardly crook,
I'll see what i saw but take no second look,
like a camel's head in the sand,
I'll timidly tell myself these things are just too hard to understand.
Nov 3, 2021
Nov 3, 2021 at 6:43 AM UTC
I'd rather drown a hundred times than let my heart go free
Because I can't hear your horrid voice at the bottom of the sea
And you've ruined every chance of love
So I pulled when I was supposed to shove
You don't know how it feels to love so blindly
All trust enveloped into another soul
Only to have them crush your hopes and dreams with one fatal blow
Breaking down, slowly
I decay with the rest
A dusty box of your old shirts
I could barely bring myself to collect
But I'm the one crying myself dry
I'm the one fighting to keep myself alive
I didn't sleep, I couldn't eat,
Not a single soul could help me.
I can't trust others
I barely trust myself
So at the end of the day
It's me, myself, and nobody else.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
Glazed eyes
Tired sighs
Lost interest
Leave the room
Question that guy
smells like **** you high?
No officer with a sigh
Detained and searched
Reasonably
Booked and Printed
All I was doing was
eating popcorn
and playing videogames
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 5:28 AM UTC
"Lovely" The word slips between my lips
As a sigh.
The day is hot,
The water cool.
We are young
And reasonably beautiful;
Something, which no one can take away
From us, except for time.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
a HOME credible THE BISHOP accusation ADMINISTRATION is PARISHES one MINISTRIES that, SCHOOLS after RESOURCES review SAFE ENVIRONMENT of EMPLOYEES reasonably CAREERS available, CONTACT US relevant MAKE A GIFT information BISHOP’S FAITH APPEAL in LOVE AND JUSTICE consultation AFRICAN AMERICAN MINISTRY with CATHOLIC CHARITIES the PLANNED GIVING Diocesan CHANCELLOR Review OFFICE OF CONSTRUCTION Board HISPANIC MINISTRY or CAMPUS MINISTRY other CRIMINAL JUSTICE MINISTRY professionals, STEWARDSHIP AND COMMUNICATIONS there YOUTH MINISTRY is FINANCIAL SERVICES reason MODERATOR OF THE CURIA to MAKE A GIFT TO THE CAPITAL CAMPAIGN believe SOCIAL MEDIA POLICY is FAMILY LIFE MINISTRY true VOCATIONS
The soup today is not what it could be;
We’d better search out the old recipe
Explanatory Note:
I fear the poem as written fails, which is my fault (perhaps I have lapsed into fuzziness from reading Leonard Cohen), so here is a bit of exposition:
The words in small print are a quote from the Bishops of Texas (long may they wave), generated by some in-house scrivener, about what constitutes a "credible accusation." "Credible accusation" is not a title in civil, criminal, or canon law, and it appears to be some sort of Article 58 (cf. Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago), a means whereby anyone is guilty because he has been accused. It stinks.
Also stinky is the behavior of some few priests and religious.
Anyway, I pulled the quote from a diocesan web site, and scattered among it in LARGE TYPE categories from that site. I stirred 'em all up in a soup because the matter of paedophilia and the bishops' responses seem to be a soup, making it difficult for a "good simpleton" (cf A Canticle for Leibowitz) like me to understand.
May God have mercy on us all.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
One last time, I hold your hand,
Knowing that tomorrow will never come,
I've given all a man can reasonably give,
But you are lost into another time and place.
There were the days when we did laugh as one,
When everything seemed so fresh and new,
When I could feel you breathe the life into me,
And I was proud to tell the others you were mine.
But sometimes others darkened swift our lives,
Told lies and led deceptive forces to destroy,
Then after all was left were memories no longer real,
And someone cried and carried such an empty heart.
When I awoke and no longer felt your body warm,
Or, smelled the sweetness that is all but only you,
My world spinned manic out of cosmic control,
With tears that fell like others a million times before.
So, one last time, please let me hold your hand,
And say the words that meant so much to me,
To gaze upon your face and altered countenance so,
While you walk swiftly unto another we both know.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 3:56 AM UTC
The bar behind the theatre was nearly empty apart from a couple of gay boys.
Well, it was a gay bar, so no ******* surprise there.
I glanced at the fat one and decided, 'No thank you very much,'
as I have noticed fat people often smell unpleasantly,
maybe it's the sweat trapped between their ********** that does it.
But the other one was very cute and I decided I would have him.
In those days, it was regarded as 'de rigeur' to buy a lad a lager and lime
before dragging him home with you for some nookie,
so I coughed up for a half pint with charm and grace.
Sadly, he was no great shakes in the conversational stakes,
but was I after intellectual stimulation? No, I ******* wasn't.
Anyway, once I'd checked his passport to ensure he was over-age
(no one wants any ******* trouble from the bigoted morality squad)
I dragged him back to my elegant bachelor orgy-pad
and stripped him off to investigate his lithe little body;
a nice smooth little **** and a reasonably clean ****
What more can you want from a one night stand?
After a bit of a damp snog and a good old *****
I lubed him up and gave his *** a right good poking.
He moaned a bit, but then who wouldn't moan,
with seven and a half inches of thick gristle shoved
all the way up their sphincter? I know I would.
After I had filled his rear end with love juice a couple of times,
I felt that kicking out was the name of the game.
Generously, I gave him a half-crown for his bus fare
as he said he was a bit short of cash, being unemployed.
It was the least I could do, as he had three miles to go home,
and it was raining cats and ******* dogs outside.
After he'd left, I checked out the bed sheets (as you would)
and was irritated to find a few skidmarks there,
or they may have been where I wiped my fingers
after having eaten a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk.
A quick sniff confirmed my worst suspicions though.
'Ah well, true love always comes at a price', I reflected,
as I scraped the worst bits off with a nail file.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Perfection makes this day
Polite expressionless faces
Rich and luxurious, they pray
Rationally irritating, that passes.
Perfection is I, quoth he
Pretty pointless faces, I say
Reasonably intelligent friends, said he
Rather boring folk do they convey.
Perfection is ******** I utter
Probable mix-up, they record
Realize the beauty! I order
Render it proper on my own accord.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
"In a mad world, only the mad are sane"
Clearly stated by K. Akira.
Scary!
What is freedom?
How close is it to insanity?
Scary!
Is that a freedom when one has to lose peace of mind? Is that a freedom where finally one has to ask ownself, who am I? And may regret what I have become. Is that a freedom where you search for the thousand Suns when you know one is enough? Is that a freedom where you have to sell the soul to exist a new time? Freedom is questionable.
Never ask that freedom when you are not ready for. Never ask that freedom where you don't belong. Never ask that freedom where finally one has to shed tears. Never ask that freedom where foundation of life ends. Isn't it insanity, freedom beyond control? And you may have observed where weeds florish, lotus thrives.
Balanced freedom is conscious state of being where no outer stimuli distracts, and one could flourish. Freedom in any form is always neutal, but the person who execute it, could be wrong. And forgive me if it is illogical, Earth revolving around it's axis is universal example of how much freedom one needs.
What is freedom?
How close is it to insanity?
As the saying goes, your freedom to swing your fist ends just where my nose begins.
Yes, should I repeat that?
Reasonably never ask the insane, what freedom is. At that instant they will justify everything, where they are always right.
It will be scarier that time.
Thus freedom itself is never the issue, for what cause it is exercised, is.
Nothing more.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 11:13 AM UTC
I cannot fully explain to you
How perplexing it is
To be a 22 year old adult
But to still have the fear
Usually reserved for a young child
The fear of the dark
And not in a way that one is afraid of death
Or lions or tigers or bears
Oh my, my fear is much more irrational
You see I find I have bravery in real things
I’ve rock climbed mountains
Ridden roller coaters
Held a poisonous snake by the tale
You get why that’s braver right?
But what makes the hair on the back of my neck stand
What makes my skin pucker into tiny little bumps
Are monsters born of my own imagination
You see my imagination is wicked
And I use that word both ways
In the slang sense that it is awesome and powerful
And in the literal sense that is it evil
That when I imagine a monster
I give it ten hands with 20 fingers each ending with teeth
And eyes so black they sink into the monsters head
Making them look like empty sockets
So deep, they touch his brain
I am forever afraid
I’ll be honest with you
I sleep with all the lights on
And my closet doors wide open
So I could see exactly what is going on in there
I years ago threw out my bed skirt
Convinced they cloaked crooked
Teeth crawling critters capable of decapitation
And were all considerable stronger than myself
As you can imagine I have a lot of nightlights
Mobile ones I use to walk to the bathroom with in the middle of the night
I have to buy so many batteries
The clerk at Walmart can only reasonably assume
I have deviant private life
Because grown *** adults shouldn’t be that scared of the dark
Because at some point during or after childhood
I won’t assume it happens at the same time for everybody
Your imagination takes a backseat to logic
And you understand that monsters aren’t real
But death is and maybe that’s a better fear to have
That didn’t happen with me though and I think most artists
If they were to be completely honest with you would tell you
It didn’t happen to them either they missed a step
In the development milestone department
Though I think they would tell you too like I’m about to tell you now
The fear is worth it there hasn’t been a single monster
I’ve imagined that hasn’t had an equal
Beautiful thought and I can see them better with all the lights on.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
Difficult to say it is a crisis of faith
Deadlock stubbornly cracked
Divide intensified with fact so backed
****** is truth, lost memory's wraith
"Who's to blame?" as so often "they" saith
Forget this daft idyllic hope, loyalty
To nothing has my life compared
And as most humans, no heartache spared
No limits to its reverence and constancy
As God shapeshifted, any form but royalty
Kings of Kings, my Makers, Lords on High
Omnipotent theories to query
Over verses I've traveled, all but Kashmiri
Reasonably these to view before bye-bye
Off I am to Pir Panjal, where I shall quake and die
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
No one born too far from Niedersachsen, said Oma,
ever quite captures their sing-song intonation.
Characterized by subtleties, like an umlauted vowel,
all non-native imitations sound inevitably as ******
as would a cry of “ello, guv’nah!” in a London coffee shop.
Her Plattdeutsch instincts neutered
by decades abroad, married to a son of Milwaukee,
her permanent, dormant longing for Salzgitter awakes only
to trigger hunger pangs of irreconcilable nostalgia
at the passing whiff of a Germantown bakery.
She taught me the word “sehnsucht” over lukewarm coffee
and a pause in our conversation: a compound word
that no well-intentioned English translation
could render faithfully.
It isn’t the same as just longing, she sighed— longing is curable.
Sehnsucht holds the fragments
of an imperfect world and laments
that they are patternless. How the soul
yearns vaguely for a home
remembered only in the residual ache
of incomplete childhood fancies;
futile as the ruins
of an ancient, annihilated people.
How life’s staccato joys soothe
a heart sore from the world,
yet the existential hunger, gnawing
from the malnourished stomach
of the bruised human psyche, remains—
insatiable, eternal.
Long enough ago, a reasonably-priced bus ride away
from the red-roofed apartment in which she babbled her first words,
a kindly old man in a pharmacy asked her
about her peculiar, exotic accent. Once inevitably prompted
with the question of where she was from, she responded only
that she was a tourist off the beaten track.
And when I pointed out, to my immediate regret,
that she gets the same question back here in Ohio,
I realized then that, not once, has she ever referred to the way
the people of her pined-for hometown spoke
as though she had ever belonged to it.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
They say we’re crazy
Chasing stupid millennial dreams
Too far fetched they seem and sometimes we agree
But secretly we hope and pray they become reality
Excuse the interruption but does this sound familiar for anybody else?
“Big house on its second mortgage, and a camper for when we feel like downsizing prison.
Cars each on a different loan, manicured lawn because we must show status in everything we own.
Monday, he cheated with the bottle and she cheated in her heart
Tuesday, sister came home late, crying her eyes out because the arms of her last lover were just like her fathers.
Wednesday was surprisingly peaceful, but unnerving, as sunny days were far and few between and I was thinking this was just the calm before the storm.
Thursday I saw father sitting on the floor his last straw a piece of paper "final notice" printed in red
Friday mother sat in the car for an extra twenty minutes starring blankly at the door contemplating her life
Saturday was fight night
Sunday we went to church and pretended it was all alright”
I’m sorry if my pursuit in life is simply this: Happiness.
If it looks like a retrofitted van and I live like a *** because I never want to fight about little green men
Or, if it was a tiny home that her and I could reasonably afford on land far away from the city lights and temptations that come at night
You could say It’s something about the fights we could hear through thick walls that drove us mad inside
And now we chase peace and calm, love and happiness, through any means
Because that’s something that cannot be bought despite our parents thoughts.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
I feel
so many feelings
all the time.
I am
a feeling being.
I need
to feel
to understand
the meaning of my experiences
in comparison to my needs and aspirations.
But
my feelings
happen intuitively
and prior to careful evidence-based reasoning
and so my feelings are not philosophically reasonable
and so my feelings are dangerous
if I use my feelings to define what reality is.
I protect myself
from unphilosophical unreasonable feelings
by never enacting my feelings,
by never reacting motivated by feelings;
rather I use my feelings
only as information
that I am having feelings
and so my needs and aspirations
may be affected in some way
by my experiences
which led to my feelings;
then I reflect
on my experiences
to philosophically reasonably discover
how it is most useful for me to feel
to achieve my optimal joy an happiness.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 9:53 PM UTC
The aliens are coming to turn young into old
If you are a reasonably young person and you want to have some fun
Make sure the aliens don't capture you and attempt to eat you up
They will start at your feet, after you have a walk
And then he'll put his slimey hand to your mouth, when you start to talk
No matter how many times you relax
You can't get rid of them
Because they seem to want to push down on you, driving you f..n mad
Every time you get off your chair
Your legs are so very tired
And seeing that your under 50, there is something weird going on
You could say you are aging quicker before the rest
But I put it to laziness, you just think that it is aging
And you are ****** fine with that
But now we say, oh yeah for sure
It's the aliens that are doing the trick
They push on your feet, and put pressure on your head
And making your hands move around like crazy
And after a while your brain goes weak and you feel so hazy
You need to tell someone, yes you do, cause you have to beat them, oh yeah
Every time you think about life, you hear voices you remember
And some you want to forget and then the aliens come
And be these friends flying through the air
Leaving you with memories of being teased heavily
Then you tell then to get ****** they say na
Because these aliens are wanting to tease you
And they will do it, and then make you f..n cry
So, the aliens would
Start nibbling on your feet
And then up your leg
Pass the knee
Up toward the thigh
In the waist, and the abs as well
Toward the chest, and now up to the neck
Then after the head he has eaten you up
And then he'll spit out the hair
Because he hates that, oh yeah he does
And now he has you in his trap
You will experience aches and pains when your old
And any thought of thinking young, will leave your brain
So dudes, don't let those aliens win, be careful
You don't get too tired, just relax and beat those aliens
The aliens aren't coming no more, they're leaving
Too bad, boo hoo to you
Sent from my iPhone
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
This valley wood is pledged
To the set shape of things,
And reasonably hedged:
Here are no harpies fledged,
No rocs may clap their wings,
Nor gryphons wave their stings.
Here, poised in quietude,
Calm elementals brood
On the set shape of things:
They fend away alarms
From this green wood.
Here nothing is that harms -
No bulls with lungs of brass,
No toothed or spiny grass,
No tree whose clutching arms
Drink blood when travellers pass,
No mount of glass;
No bardic tongues unfold
Satires or charms.
Only, the lawns are soft,
The tree-stems, grave and old;
Slow branches sway aloft,
The evening air comes cold,
The sunset scatters gold.
Small grasses toss and bend,
Small pathways idly tend
Towards no fearful end.
2.2k
"No.
No you absolutely can not go to the store to buy some beer
you! you are too young
just stay inside and watch some TV
beer is for losers
no go and make your dad another G&T;
during the commercial break"
Feeling thirsty?
Want to be liked and respected?
want to be fun?
life of the party?
want to be swarmed by a slew of half naked vaginas with legs?
then get yourself a Bud
"Why can't you be happy with what you have?
you know we never had much growing up
and look at us now
a pair of reasonably comfortable adults
don't you want to be reasonably comfortable?
can't you just be yourself?"
Hey you! Yeah you!
what the hell are you just sitting there for?
It's a Friday night why aren't you out partying?
no invitation. **** Wait I know why -
What's that you are wearing?
you don't know!?
you need some Polo
and some Nike, just do it
throw in some brooks brothers
don't you want people to think better of you
don't be THAT guy in cargo shorts
unless you like ************ alone at night
and here's some Beats by Dre headphones
so you can hear us better
Now I no it's pricey, but don't you want to be happy?
we've got your happiness right here
and it will only cost you
your parents' credit card
"We just don't know what's wrong with you
why are you in such a rut?
get out of bed, go and do something
we got you what you asked for
why can't you be satisfied?
a lenovo 2 in 1?
what the hell is a Lenovo 2 in 1?
A laptop and a tablet?
Why?
Oh, you just have to have one
well I'm sorry, but money has been tight
maybe you should get a job
your birthday is right around the corner..."
Look at this cool guy
Look at how great his life is
you want this. We know you do
what you'll need is some more swag
just a little bit
and some cough syrup, expensive liquor and some ***
plus you'll want some *******
how else can you party this hard?
Maybe get a gun, or a knife
no. Definitely get a gun. A big one
that way nobody will say anything to **** your buzz
carry that big stick and walk tall cool dude
oh yeah, here's a secret for you
keep it to yourself alright?
women really like being treated like ****
we told them to
"What's that?
a gun? For what?
oh so now you're going to **** yourself?
well I'm sorry but we don't do that in this family
you'll just have to be ground into submission like everybody else
what makes you so special, huh?
why do you get to punch out early
shut up, keep your head down, do your job, buy some **** have a family
then get your kids started with all the **** you buy.
brand name baby clothes and such.
now be a good boy
and pay your taxes
but shush, the TV is on"
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
I am different
And have always been
Right from the age of four
Whether it be my fascination for trains
And cement mixers, for some reason
Or my peculiar fear of water
Or my obsession with the number of pages in a newspaper
And last but not the least
Playing cricket with myself
I am different
And have always been
I can't make small talk to save my life
Social cues are like Greek and Latin to me
I understand sarcasm
As much as Voldemort understands love
I keep fiddling with my things
Pens, papers, clothes, hair etc.
My room is as organised
As a typical bachelor's den is
And the list goes on and on
I am different
And have always been
Earlier, this always used to bother me
And make me feel inferior
Especially when people advised me
To improve my verbal communication skills
And body language
However, I have realised now
That they could not have been more wrong
Because I am autistic
And autism is not something that can be cured
Rather, it has to be managed
And thanks to therapy
I have been managing reasonably well
For the last five years or so
Let me repeat
I am different
And have always been
If you have a problem with that
You are welcome to leave
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 12:45 PM UTC
he named me after him,
his best ditty ever,
my inheritance,
a laughing brook of
guppy royalties,
that keep our Labrador
reasonably well fed poetically
and of course his name
his name,
which was not so much inherited,
as deposited, X-mark-the-son
they ask,
no, they declarative announce
as fact,
answered even as asking,
tho their voices rising
in a pretend-questioning format,
are you as good as he was?
Oh no, of course not,
I'm merely the son,
He was the father,
between us,
the
Holy Ghost of Rhyme
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
There is, one supposes, a certain nobility
In simply carrying on with the whole **** thing,
Though that assumes some epiphany,
Some clawing toward grace, or at least common decency.
He had, in some once upon a time,
Cast his lot with a better class of people, so to speak;
It had not ended well, though,
In line with how such things are resolved,
His fall not a spectacular, tempestuous thing,
But a gradual, veiled affair, not a fiery spectacle
With metaphorical medals cut away, epaulets stripped,
But a shaded silence, a shrouded yet palpable shunning.
And so he is here, in this fading little city
Perched forlornly on the banks of a nondescript little river,
Having taken an apartment above a pair of offices
(One occupied by a seemingly ancient and disinterested lawyer,
The other by an ostensible private investigator)
Which is sufficiently large and reasonably warm
Come the seemingly perpetual winter.
He lives, if not in such a manner
As he was once accustomed to, comfortably enough:
He has his practice, and an adjunct position
At the little cow college down the road in Alfred,
And there are the occasional women,
Sad divorcees marooned in this hill country,
Dewy-eyed undergraduates unable to discern
Suit coats that are a bit shabby and somewhat passe
(There is a haberdasher in Buffalo whose garments
Are in the neighborhood of up-to-snuff,
And he could certainly manage a trip
Down to New York for better tailoring,
Though he would be traveling in places and circles
Where he is not remembered fondly.)
Stepping outside, he encounter snowflakes,
Light and unprepossessing,
But he studies the sky anxiously, apprehensively
(One learns that he must pay Nature its due fealty in these climes,
And give into the primal, the instinctual)
For he knows what can transpire
When the wind blows off the big lake out west just so,
Turning innocuous flurries into a malevolent blankness,
Making the landscape inscrutable, alien, utterly terrifying.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, make the last month count<3
reasoned reasonably to the reason
if it doesn't work congratulations self-treason
blames are things for the air to worry
& my mind isn't the place to be sorry
back in fancy blacks & charming winks
them feels a gift so make them pink
what's past is indifferenced past
& dreams become a truth to an optimist's last
-------ravenfeels
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
Eli tossed the ****** novel aside; a radical tale
of painters in the far future when paint itself
would be illegal; arms dealers, drug traffickers,
*** workers gathering in dark interstellar holes
bored into passing comets & orbiting meteors
docking illegally at satellite ports & unloading
chemicals frozen into place by the artists
who can never let their identities be known;
all colors on earth are registered & trade marked
by the Beast's Corporation & so Space Art is
highly sought & lucrative but lethal as it can
made to explode w/ enough energy & radiation
to leave a small planet barren for millions of years;
the Beast is reasonably worried as Space Art, or
Action Painting [after the ancient school] is wildly
popular & traded openly for billions of dollars;
the Beast may be able to keep everyone stupid
& greedy but Art liberates them into heights of
ecstasy & kindled wisdom; freedom of thought
the last frontier no one suspected & so abrogated
their intelligence & imagination to fembots
who pump their heads full of colorful action sequences;
the illegal paintings too stiff, just stand or lean
& look back at one w/out blinking
& the female-computer-network unable to bear the silence,
initiates automatic shut-down of itself; femportals
abandoned on stations where the painted images
projected on microcells to the clandestine buyers,
spread as an unseen mist through the various
artificial environments;
the distant star paint miners
smoking up a storm & using steam-powered
fembots
to mine for their oil & charcoal;
Eli putting on the kettle for tea,
thinks about the fembots in the novel & calling a **********
demands she not speak; the girl arriving naked in stockings
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
I've never read The Torah, but
I'm reasonably sure
it is a travel guide
for a desert getaway.
I've never dreamed of
red headed priestesses
who can move their hips
like cement mixers.
They probably have sharp teeth and
slender fingers.
I always thought that
the cosmos would bend down
to give me a dap.
It still may.
I'm full of dark and weird judgement.
All for you.
Sometimes the darkness wanes
while the weirdness lingers.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
Arguably benign
Collecting dust, eventually
Forgetting...
Graciously heroic
Intrepid justification, knowing
Legalese...
Mistakenly nerdy
Or perhaps quite
Reasonably serendipitous...
Triumphantly understood
Validating wisdom
Xenial...
Yellow zealot
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC