Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…

Dedicated to the agitators of Oregon.
(We all want you to secede, baby !)

Let it BURN while you feel the TRUMP.
I hope Soros pays you well for your efforts.
Here's my one-man backlash
to the whacked-out blacklight
of the whitelash blackout.
So don't try to whitewash the knockout,
blockheads.

¡ JUST SAY NO to one-world GLOBALISM !

The year of Eighteen Sixty Five
Lincoln, shot and dead
The war was all but over
Destruction in it's stead
Blue and Grey divided
A nation great and strong
Was there ever a true winner?
So much of this was wrong
Brothers against brothers
Tearing families apart
It was a war with different issues
At Fort Sumter did it start
Slaves were not the forefront
When the war became a war
It was a war to stop secession
Then it became so much more
Johnny Reb comes marching home
Not the home that he once knew
It was now a state of new rebuilding
There was no more Grey, just Blue
Did it truly make the country
Unified under one flag?
Or did it become so much more splintered
Under a torn and tattered rag?
A President was murdered
But, the war, continued on
The ties that once did bind them
Were now just truly gone
The beauty of the country
Burned on Shermans' seaward trek
Left the Southern states demolished
And the plantations, just a wreck
The slaves were granted freedom
Through Emancipation at the end
But, in the south, it never happened
The landowners had to bend
Although the war was over
Slaves were free men after all
But, with nowhere left to go to
It was like a game without a ball
Many stayed and cropshared
Worked the same land as before
Now, they worked the land as freemen
Nothing less, and nothing more
Brothers still divided
Blue and Grey deep in their souls
Almost eight score years have passed
And the nation is still not whole
Grant and Lee at Appomatox
Ended the war and sent men on their way
But, it took days for the message to be heard and
Many more died in those days
Three Quarters of a Million
Lost their lives, in this young nation
One thing never altered
The place of a man's station
It split apart the country
Broke it down, to build anew
But, did it really matter
Now, with Johnny Reb in Blue?

I have raised hackles
And wear grey shackles
They're distractions in my brain
They kind of sound like chains
They hold me still
Until I get my fill
And secure myself
To endure this hell

You tighten the screws
I'm beaten and bruised
Please don't stop
You're like the cops
I depended on your aggression
Then shocked by your secession
I wanted to be shot through the palms of my hands
That was the most pathetic part of my plan
You called my bluff
And put me in cuffs
You took away my agency
And then exited hastily
You're just part of the chain of rain
That will eventually stain my brain

I wear shackles
I hear cackles
There's amusement they find
In the fact that I'm blind
In the fact that I'm crying
In the fact that I'm trying
My miserable life is a joke to them
They think I have a broken stem
They callously disconnect my links
So they can crawl through my fence
Trying to change what I think
Making me constantly feel tense
So I can be what they hate
That'll make them feel great
I have to restrain reactions
Throughout our interaction
They're looking for reasons to hate me
And ways to grate me
And deflate me
I must dial my love back
Before they attack
My mind must be restrained
In this life I'm engrained

sun and moon stand side-by-side in the great starless sky of this Monday Sunday Tuesday workweek
with ambulance stoplight caution I leap from crevice to crack of the ***** cement walkways that tear across snowy fields
staring at the world around me - faces as solemn unreserved apathetic mirrors of nothing in their corresponding souls
pair them off in dialogues of the triumphs of the fabled GPA - its deep-throat growling dripping fangs embedded in their minds since sloppy second-hand birth
and I cry out and I cry alone for these are the summers winters springs falls etc and so on of my discontent
for I am a man among gods
gods of capitalism and communism  and social disorder and bureaucracy
gods of music and poetry and written spoken words and fashionability
and the only false evidence of such godly aspirations remain on my body as fading bitemarks on my wrists from when once I tried so valiantly to tear my technicolor blood from these incontinent arms
but even in such times as those there was no salvation but for yellow-staining death sticks clutched between shaking fingers and melting shots fired down raw fleshy throat in rapid secession
the gods I hold so dear have left me for whatever come what may in these places of my mind filled with words and thoughts and images of your everything thrashing against nothing

this depression
grips me like the rope thats soon to **** me
it's visible in my blank ****** expression
nothing is going to cure me
no one with a title, forget your medical profession
I believe its passed down genetically, chronological succession
but I don’t have my elders' strength, I’m choosing secession
leaving this place
but don’t call it regression,
because I own sole possession
of the knowledge that this life never gets better,
now do you understand? reading comprehension?
I became a master at hiding these feelings, skillful repression
and no I was never happy, there's my confession
how's that for a first impression?
in a world filled with prejudicial oppression and money hungry obsession
we’re G-d's material possession
unfortunately all the others will look on, intentional indiscretion
so yes, blame yourself, and discuss all the things you could've changed at my funeral *procession

In this cave I'm at home, I am dead to the bone,
my marrows unbloody and my skulls just a tome.

I sink i sink i sink and i sink.
In this muck I dissolve my speech.
Needing no one to breach,
my lair where I grieve. I don't want to leave.
In refuse, I breed.
I broke my own tarsals and I bust out my teeth,
so words cant seep, from a mouth with broken feet.
Tiptoeing to tympanums.

Entrails prolapse from orifices. Pressure delegates my new motions.
I now must hold my own esophagus in my palms.
I now must clutch my stomach from my navel.
I now have to hold all of me in, because no one else will/
can.
No longer under control of anything,
pressure grinds my teeth to nothing.
My organs are liquid metal molten bleeding Ebola,
every pore agony of the lurching of cells,
all at once committing secession ,
against the parts they connect too.

This is proof there is no god.
This is the cave of a sink of hate.
This is soul atrophy.
A trophy of losing your hope when rock bottom was the chasms final means of escape.

Lucifer leaps from my mouth to the sky.
To reign anew.
To destroy the sun,
and show a new light from the rest of the punches in the blanket of the universe,
that,
that blasted sky lamp has always threatened us away from.

we can see peace now.
We can finally be rid of that overbearing street post,
and see that it aimed to destroy us.

We sleep in the cave now.
You and I.
Agony together.

The Great Depression
Days where countries felt like secession
The deadly dust bowl swept crops away
The stock market crashed
Everyone had to pay

The Great Depression
A lot of people died
From the dust that flew by
As the tumbleweeds flied

The Great Depression
The money went away
Food was rationed
But not every day

Most of the food
Was sent away
For the soldiers
That risk their lives everyday

been awhile
but no matter,
boots look best
when resting
on legs extended
on a summer's afternoon
looking down on
water boats, dogs by the side,
your sleepy hollow in
my appreciative heart

for I know there is soul
in brevity,
and that ain't exactly
my finest quality

but you sir,
archival historian
of moments of man's choices,
and with noisy metal detector,
reflect on the belts and buckles uncovered
from long ago wars by which you
capture my devoted attention

they say the north won the war,
by amassing more and more
and wearing down their brothers
but I know different

r
you listening,
to you I accede,
to your fewer words,
join in happy secession,
and see us all through
with your briefs on the
human condition

I'm just giddy knowing you like mi mole oboe poetry

Anime  he it it it's ssôœks

Right ok
Thus stylistic origin

You like! You so don't you
Overnight just in implosion you'll see

Quantities it quaint bin secession cast



kind really cool touring n stuff

I'm happy but it's crazy you nar?
Oh guy guy guy it , it's good fri

The drums of secession,
Beat cold fear across the land,
Visions of peace are in recession,
As the south east threatens to leave the band.

UNANSWERED



How strange it was to see her there
After so much suffering. Her dying marriage
A bleeding and untreated smear,
Disguising a love neither would salvage.
The music played, the guests danced
With savage partners whose love retreated and advanced.  

His awkward lover lingers quietly in the room
By turn shade, shadow, and silhouette,
She sways slowly to each repeated tune
Too triumphantly passionate to experience regret.
Mistress and wife exchange no glance, assuming ignorance
Of each other’s uncomfortable presence.


The loss of another’s love can wound
More brutally than the lover’s death
The secession of an intimate bond
Becomes a winding, coagulating mess.
When lovers connect they forget
What broke when they met.


A slow guitar riff makes her weep.
She takes my hand. She calls me friend.
I smile, with thoughts of my own to keep,
My own unanswered love to tend.
I kindly wipe away her tears,
But not my own. Those I’ve kept for years.


Beautiful songs, erratically played,
He glances towards her, smiles and leaves,
She turns away, both destroyed and dismayed,
Stands silently in the septic light and grieves.
I take her hand, but she pulls quickly away
I offer her a drink. She declines and will not stay.


I buy another whisky at the bar, tossing it down.
In a cruelly dissipating cloud, her fresh perfume lingers
Mimicking her constant image.  My phone rings and I frown.
My forgiving wife is calling. With guilt and regret, my fingers
Tighten around the glass. I say: “Honey, I’ll be home soon.”
And, like others, leave the signifying gloom.


Touched by the sharp morning light
Half-empty glasses, abandoned halls,
Breaking out from the hasty coition of the night
Love radiates, caresses, falls.
When ubiquitous lovers combine it highlights briefly
How lonely it leaves those who grasp at love weakly.

An unusual crowd gathers

I can make out faces through every window

Blank, staring, sea of faces

Eyes fixed on the hillside across the way

My house seems only an obstruction

An optical obstacle obscuring an oncoming out pour

Unblinking they look at that overgrown hill

Where the wild brush spreads and those old rails stay planted

Stretching east to west

Those ******* rails that those ******* trains

would rumble down at four in the morning

Blaring their horns and shaking my bed

Until the sun woke up on schedule, like clockwork

Over and down the hillside, water starts to trinkle

Slipping and sliding

How ghastly it grows

From stream to spout

to rivers with rapids

Until the tidal wave shows its face - blank, staring

Eyes fixed on me

In the face of the end, I turn and flee

So many loved ones and trinkets to save

But the water is up to my knees

And the crowd - unmoving, unthinking

Without a gasp or a word of dismay

They open their mouths to drink in the doom

Parched since the prelude for the secession of air

Too late for nostalgia

Impact.

Empty handed the crow and dove shall return

The Earth has run another race round her star
The Two Thousand and Seventeenth year (give or take)
Since the Creator drew breath in history
And now the manuscript is bound, it is sealed
Soon to be sent to the Printer

The Editor-in-Chief does not delegate this task
He leafs through the pages Himself
Though newly-bound, they are not white and fine
There is no fresh crispness, the binding is broken
They are musty already with age, and not only age

It is as if they had been soaked in a tea of human filth
A quarter of it printed in red, blood is cheaper than ink
A quarter of it stained with jaundice, sweat is cheaper than ink
A quarter of it wrinkled illegible, tears are cheaper than ink
A quarter of it, alas! - dreams are cheaper than ink

The Editor reads on, impassive, unfazed
He has long been familiar with Adam’s work
This sequel follows well upon its parent
Consistent in a thousand fires and slaughters
Consistent in a thousand lies and eruptions

Every chapter is headed with a dedication:
“For Death, the only mother I’ve ever loved”
In the foreword the author declared himself immortal
In the afterword he declared mortality an illusion
But the body was an essay on how much he dreaded his demise

Adam sat, nervous, across from the Editor’s desk
He had worked so ******* this
And yet it seemed to write itself
This was his life’s work
Though he never seemed to call the shots

The year Opinion Popular declared secession from the union
And Reality Objective became a Prisoner of War
And we resold our birthright for whatever was on the menu
The old had questions that nobody questioned
And the young had answers that nobody answered

And the Editor looked at Adam with tears in His eyes
And Adam asked if his draft would be published
And the Editor said that there was no alternative
And Adam asked, “What next, then?”
And the Editor told Him, with a sad smile

He told Adam to start work without delay
To begin immediately the next sequel
Because he only had a year before the deadline
And no extensions whatsoever would be granted
And Adam got up to leave, to write -

“But before you go -

“Look here, look close, you may have to squint
But look what you’ve scribbled here, in the margins
Read the footnotes very carefully
And every word in parentheses
And all these that you’ve bracketed”

There is hope scribbled in the margins
And they loved in the footnotes
They were embracing inbetween parentheses
Some of those sobs were even tears of joy
And in the brackets, O, what he had bracketed!

He had bracketed all those who labored to rebuild
The bridge-builders, the peace-makers
The dream-builders, the light-seekers
The school-builders, the truth-teachers
The home-builders, the wound-healers

He had bracketed numberless beautiful births
He had bracketed charity of mother and father
He had bracketed heroic sacrifice, all selfless
Men and women who loved family and country and God
Far more than they loved themselves

“Let’s make this the focus of the next edition.”

Bleeding green
it's sad to see you go
why would I miss such eloquence
when all else is not
ignorance is best reserved for the weary

torn apart by bow and arrow
like a river of flooding purpose
nested in lust
I welcome your return, someday

you know that I am not grateful
you could tell by now that
for all that you've done for us
for all that, you've been done to us

come along to the sorrow
come to the edge of waters
this blue is deeper than it's disservice
find darkness in the tunnels of bright lights

I am waiting here for something noticeable
an actual improvement on the impossibly scenic
I am hoping here for someone
a provided-for glimpse into past, present, and future tenses
with or without harmony, this palace is built in sinking soils
stereo plays whatever. it cares not
works like a charming prince
nevertheless, ****** and distinguished
you can't escape preliminary gratitude for those you once loved
that old devil
that smiling best-in-show
or her shock value
shoe laces on white diamonds

A victim,
A series of
Petty oppression,
And following each with
Speedy secession
Smile others,
smug,
beings of superiority
And smother
Your breath of free,
Breath of light

They think they know
What's best for me

Preface:
On February 4, 1861,
the seven states that had seceded
by this point convened and created
the Confederate States of America
under the leadership of Jefferson Davis.

Just under two months later,
on April 12, 1861, Confederate forces
opened fire on Union-occupied
Fort Sumter off the South Carolina coast.

Starting but not completely reading a book...
tantamount to being sacrilegious,
especially when storied subject matter
deals with heated issue as slavery,
which essentially succinctly describes
war between the states
(purportedly started April 12, 1861 –
and reputedly ended April 9, 1865)
allegedly triggered
at 4:30 ante meridian on April 12, 1861,
when Confederate troops fired
on Fort Sumter
in South Carolina's Charleston Harbor.

Less than 34 hours later,
Union forces surrendered.

Traditionally, this event used to signify
the beginning of the Civil War.

Self imposed onerous obligation
understanding difficult to comprehend
thought provoking printed material
subsequently generated
system of the down overload
mine (myopic) eyes see the words,
but their meaning doth not compute,
especially when an author
chooses to write

in a bewildering, style,
thus "Abort, Retry, Fail?"
(or "Abort, Retry, Ignore?")
an error message
found in DOS operating systems,
which prompts the end-user
for a course of action arises
within sixty plus shades
of gray matter within me mind.

At present my fascination and interest
with American history temporarily appeased,
whence yours truly
envisions himself a Yankee
in the Antebellum North
thirstily drinking information
detailing one figurative chapter
concerning, detailing, giving
The Civil War breadth,
scope, width, et cetera
a narrative spanning
Fort Sumter to Perryville
painstakingly written
by the late Shelby Dade Foote.

An overactive imagination of mine
easily populated with sights, smells, and sounds
linkedin to that rebellion
(as ascribed by Abraham Lincoln)
witnessing the secession
of South Carolina followed
by the secession of six more states—
Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia,
Louisiana, and Texas–
and the threat of secession by four more—
Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina.

These eleven states eventually
formed the Confederate States of America.

Though the internecine fighting
weathered the test of eighty seven years
since July 2, 1776, when
the Second Continental Congress,
meeting in Philadelphia,
voted unanimously to declare independence
as the "United States of America".
Two days later, on July 4,
Congress signed the Declaration of Independence.

The Second Continental Congress
not initially formed to declare independence.

****** battlegrounds
minted ******* military men,
which soldiers when not fighting
sang sentimental tunes
about distant love—the popular
“Lorena” and “Aura Lee”
(which in the twentieth century
became “Love Me Tender”)
and “The Yellow Rose of Texas”—
and songs of loss such as
“The Vacant Chair.”

Other tunes commemorated victory—
“Marching Through Georgia”
considered a vibrant evocation of Sherman's ...
March to the Sea.

Some even sprouted from prison life,
such as "*****, *****, *****."

Soldiers marched to the rollicking
“Eatin’ Goober Peas;”
they vented their war-weariness with “Hard Times;
” they sang about their life
in “Tenting Tonight on the Old Camp Ground;
” they were buried to the soulful strains of “Taps,”
written for the dead of both sides
in the Seven Days’ Battles.

When the guns stopped,
the survivors returned
to the haunting notes of
“When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”

If silence came upon
The heart’s cry for more,
I would be an unstoppable force.
But this dead end and it's disregard
Renders me halted in my course.

To confess,
I want you like I want a drug
To numb the nagging pain.
Through valleys my being is dragged
And so adds to every stain.
I live and work in the shadows of
Discontent.
Here, I am not myself,
I do not belong.
And unto my heart is much disdain
As silenced becomes my song.
I want you like I want relief
From this rugged, jagged
Path I walk.
Relief, however or not so brief,
I do not care, for I desire to
Escape this sad normality.
Chasing, reaching, futility
'Til every dawn.
Again, I command myself to
Forget and move on.
Ludicrous...
To consistently pursue the ones
Who fall short of repaying regard.
Still, I let down my guard.
Surely this fool deserves a bit better
Still I tell myself the contrary -
That I am not good enough,
Until such lies are believed.
Until I stand at another
Dead end.
To the unforeseen, vain affections are sent
In hopes of receiving its equal.
Over backwards, becoming bent.
To this misfortune, heart to lend...
To another dead end.
And once again that nagging question:
Why such a pattern?
Dragging morale into
Secession,
Delivering not pleasure but
External concern.
It dances about, continuing
On and on...
Extinguishing hope of cultivating
An intimate bond.
On and on,
Another dead end.
Dear soul, quit your seeking!
For through the cracks of heartache,
Precious time is seeping.
And glorious gloom...
Once again creeping.
Still, in constant longing I am...
Oh, what I would give
To not give a ****!
To give all I own
With desire also taken.
Affection, sweet affection -
Hydration to the soul...
The sweetest infection.
Where to escape this longing,
Please, point the direction.
An end must come to these daydreams -
A hand stroking my hair,
Waking up no longer alone.
Hand against skin so fair…
Cast my daydreams to stone.
Failure to be emotionally resilient -
An ongoing lament.

So weather the storm,
Steady on course!
Fall for no one,
Feel no remorse.
Play no card, take no form.
Conquer the task of
Becoming the storm.

If silence came upon
The heart’s cry for more,
I would be an unstoppable force.
But this dead end and it's disregard
Renders me halted in my course...

126 GOP Representatives signed onto the latest attempt
by **** of Utin and his rumpettes, like Moscow Mitch,
Utin's puppets all, following vlad-the-impaler's orders,
to e'er further press their case for overturning the will
of the people in our recent fair election for President,
to the Supremacy Court, where they were sure their
cries of supposed "irregularities" would win them their
criminally insane day, keep our king-kong sized
terrible-two, who's going on six, illegally installed in
the Black House.  It took the conservative Court but
126 words to bury their megalomania, dreams of grandeur.

350,000 of my and your fellow Americans have been
exterminated by them so far, pandemiced, a purposely
not prevented 9-11-01 terrorist attack's victim's toll
per day, every single minute another murdered
premeditatedly by them, more will have been ended
by them here before this is over than killed by all
our enemies in the entirety of this nation's history,
including their cherished civil war.  Joe's installing
them in his Cabinet, Admin., instead of cleaning house?
How on God's green Earth do they still steal breathe
from the Amazon forests, Gaia's lungs, which they

can't seem to destroy quick enough.  The head of TX's
GOP just said that "...****'s States should secede...",
to paraphrase.  "...We(e),...", say, one and all, please,
we beg of you, do, then we can prosecute and execute
every single one of you members of ****'s int'l crime
family, legal like.  Your talk of secession for going on
a century has obviously been no more than gabbing of
all hat cowboys playing at being men, cowards all.
The Bible says it, "don't covid thy neighbor's wife",
but, I guess you don't read much.  People, as sure as
you live, they will eventually **** you, death be proud!

Lost in emotion
enraptured by passion.

Seizing a notion,
after form of fashion.

After an insight,
passed long before.

Maybe a rite,
forgotten is core.

Contrite flee,
score are rotten.

Slight across slur
for entertains cast.

Potion flails greasing
tension form is master.

Motion slickly engrossed,
Secession left mind across.

Tag I'm it
Can I go any more

I search my self
And down to the core

Could it be need
Or could it be a bust

Or maybe I need
Simply shake off the rust

Lost in the mind
I need a map

Or maybe I simply
Need a nap

The dust shaken off
My voice is cleared

A small little cough
All mental smears

I'm not hungry, I'm hurting,
This isn't nonsense I'm spurting,
Eye contact is averting,
My body is reverting back,
Into my organic shell,
When they begin to scream and yell,
I must've went off and fell,
Down the deep hole that leads to hell,
Where demons tend to dwell and,
All of the events smell fishy,
You're either high or tipsy,
You go from itchy to dizzy,
Couldn't see you were tricky,
The atmosphere is Misty or,
I just won't open my eyes,
If I do then I'll see some guys,
That stab me and hear my cries,
Then I wake as my ego dies,
I can see through your lies now,
Now my vision is all clear up,
Please stop, just slow down, hold up,
There's no need for you to speed up,
At this pace you will blow up,
You're too far ahead, back up, stop,
My girl don't dance to my bop,
But she is one I cannot drop,
Although my love is nonstop,
I can't direct it to a spot,
Love is the root of my depression,
Creates joy as well as aggression,
Mainly sadness because suppression,
Of having a physical session,
Definitely to my discretion,
Obviously there's no possession,
I need love to be my expression,
If my body is the impression,
Then all my heart is in secession,
This will be my final confession,
Though might be beyond comprehension.

Terrible Scenes of Death and Misery in Minnesota. Five Hundred Whites Supposed to be Murdered. The Sioux Bands United Against the Whites. FORT RIDGELEY IN DANGER.
Published: August 24, 1862
ST. PAUL, Minn., Saturday, Aug. 23.
Parties from the Minnesota River reached here last sight. They state that scouts estimate the number of whites already killed by the Sioux at 500.
This opinion is based on the number of bodies discovered strewn along the road and by trails of blood.
It is believed that all the missionaries have been killed.
The civilized Indians exceeded their savage brethren in atrocities.
Mr. FRENIER, an interpreter who has spent most of his life among the Indians, volunteered to go alone among them, trusting to his knowledge of them and his disguise, to escape detection. He dressed himself to Indian costume and started on his journey. He arrived at the Upper Agency at night.
The place was literally the habitation of death.
He visited all the houses, and found their former occupants all lying dead, some on the door-steps and some inside their habitations. Others were scattered in the yards and in the roads.
He went to the house of Hon. J.R. BROWN, and recognized every member of the family. They numbered eighteen in all, and every one of them had been brutally murdered.
At ****** Creek he found that fifty families had been killed outright. At every house he went into he recognized the dead bodies of nearly all the former inhabitants of the place.
Among the dead bodies he recognized at the Agency were the following:
N. GOVERUS and family.
Dr. WAKEFIELD and family.
JOHN TODDENS and family.
JOHN MOYNER.
EDWARD MOYNER.
Rev. Dr. WILLIAMS.
Rev. Mr. BRIGGS, and two missionaries.
Ex-Gov. SIBLEY is now marching to the relief of Fort Ridgley.
He reports that the Sioux bands are united together to carry out a concentrated and desperate scheme, and says that he will be only too happy to find that the powerful upper bands of Yanktons and other tribes have not united with them.
Mr. FRENIER writes to Gov. RAMSEY, on the 21st inst., saying that he left Fort Ridgley at 2 o'clock on that morning. There were then over two thousand Indians at the fort, and all the wooden buildings there had been set on fire, and were burning.
Mr. FRENIER thinks that other tribes are joining the Sloux, and that they will present a very formidable array.
A reliable letter, dated Glencoe, 21st inst., says that the injury done by the stampede of the settlers is immense, and that such another scene of woe can hardly be found in the South as in McLeod, Meaker, and the northern part of Sibley and other counties to Minnesota.
In St. Paul and the adjoining country all the available horses are being gathered together, and all sorts of weapons will be used by willing hands for immediate and summary vengeance upon these blood-thirsty Indians.
CHICAGO, Saturday, Aug. 23.
The St. Paul (Minn.) Pioneer, of the 20th inst., says, it is thought that the Indians have been induced to commit these outrages by Indians from Missouri and secession traitors of that State, and that when Maj. GALBRAITH left the agency on Friday everything was quiet. The Indians had received their goods and had all disappeared apparently satisfied with the Major's promise to send for them as soon as the money arrived to pay them their annuities.
The first attack of the Indians was made on the house of Mr. BAKER, on Sunday last, near the town of Acton, and 30 miles from Forest City, in which three white men and one woman were killed.
On Monday morning an attack was made on Redwood, and at the time the messenger left there, a number of persons had been killed.
After the messenger had crossed the river, he saw the Indians firing into traders' stores and other buildings. He estimated the number of Indians engaged in this firing at 150. He also stated that messengers had arrived at Fort Ridgley with money to pay off the Indians the sums due them.
The St. Paul Press, of the 21st instant, says that several loads of panic-stricken people, from Currer and Sibley Counties, arrived in town last night, principally women and children. They were greatly excited, and give exaggerated accounts of the Indians, who were marching on Shasta County. They also say that the towns of St. Peter, Henderson and Glencoe have been burned.
A private letter received in this city, to-day, from St. Paul, dated the 20th instant, says, that it seems to be the general opinion among the best informed of our citizens that these Indian troubles originated with the cursed Secessionists of Missouri.
Major GALBRAITH was told by one of the Indians that there are now in arms ten thousand of the Sioux tribe, besides other tribes from Northern Missouri.
ST. PAUL, Minn., Saturday, Aug. 23 -- 9 P.M.
ANTOINE FRENIER, the disguised Indian scout, got through the Indian lines into Fort Ridgeley and brought back the following to Gov. RAMSEY:
FORT RIDGELEY, Thursday, Aug. 21 -- 2 P.M.
We can hold this position but little longer unless we are reinforced. We are being attacked almost every hour, and unless assistance is rendered us we cannot hold out much longer. Our little band is becoming exhausted and decimated. We had hoped to be reinforced to-day, but as yet can hear of no one coming.
T.G. SHEHAN, of Company C, Fifth Minnesota Volunteers, commands the post.
Gov. SIBLEY cannot reach here with his twelve hundred troops until to-morrow, when a day of reckoning for the Indians will be at hand.

Vox Populi, Vox Dei
speak as one, unified
no matter, you say
death of a butterfly, justified
secession from Heavens, ratified

Cowering behind divine intervention
children in their towering mud creations
ever closer, mortal fingers scraping skin
just below, judged in their harmonious intentions
near enough to condemn them all under the blanket of one sin,
your Ziggurat, a layered city wrapped around a societal invention,
determined to climb, rats in a maze, all of their days
they give to meet their maker, unaware all along, what gods do to towers
a race that all understood and lived together, confounded and cast many separate ways
for the ambitions, or no reasons at all, they had to trifle with superstitious powers
humanity dreams kindling for angels at night so the sun may burn it beneath its rays
nothing admired, wanted, loved, desperately hoped for or desired really stays

Etemenanki, a place and time on earth that could not be
you have everything, everybody, do you know if you're happy?
You've never been tested and brag that you're strong-willed
you'd starve for attention before your loved ones, gilded, jaded, know your stubborn hatred can't
be
killed
are you happy, one foot in the grave and three feet from the abyss, is this what it feels like to be fulfilled?
Fried wires burning through traumatic, relapses reminding unkind synapses to ignite like wildfires
no caps, music that echoes elastically through hallowed halls, sensory demands that snap-back like they're played on rubberbands, we rise to their demands, every tower falls, electricity in the adrenal glands, eternally juggernauts on the sands, ziggurats you can hitch the Hindenburg to, Shenandoah and the Challenger too, hopes for the literal and metaphysical ascension of man, swatted bricks by the tricks of a frightened, lesser-than,
humanity is what? Being, knowing what it is to be, seeing, believing, surviving,
a brain inside a skull that can't comprehend, stones on either end of a shelf for the Encyclopedia Humanitas, Alpha and Omega, where the books begin and where it ends
without it you're nothing but a bag of meat driven solely by appetite and agenda; a toolbox full of contacts you call friends
without them you're chemical actions peeling back friction, a fraction, catching a picture of the traction that glitch in the matrix of a matchbox resurrection, strikeout, your dead son and I play pretend    

Defiance is second nature to second nature, which is science
industrialized, militarized, the taste of copper in your throat
the Titanic sailed and sank, but they can build a bigger boat
do we court disaster, titans of machines, conflict and reckless responsibility for our Mother Earth?
When the bill comes due, unless other planets have been broken in too, we pay it all back in detriment or betterment for our place of birth.

What mysteries I see that unwritten histories
Laying on my bed transmitting through my head and live Destinies
Hopes and dreams that seem to glean the tattered mind within me
Segments of shows that unfolds as a well organized symphony
Mix with the unreality of my fatality of my present society
constantly heightened to begin the reel of sin to my false reality
effortlessly living in a world I pretend to see
Filling in the words never heard outside of my mental tapestry
Unalarmed by the continual harm to my character’s Divine legacy
Deep impressions of evil secession start to formate my death decree
So I am praying about how to get out of what is creating my soul’s debris
I pray to surrender what hinders me from becoming free
Free from the sentence of death and the unwritten histories

,   The Welsh have conceded succession

A new prince to remind their oppression

        They supplied Corgi’s to Queen

                  Dilyn to the has been

And that’s enough to prevent their secession.