This is a story about Milo the mighty
His sword at his side, he was forever so mighty
His armor gleamed, how he shined brightly
On the cliff side watching the sun as it set
Milo the mighty set up shop, it was time to rest...

He started on a stallion his pride on his horse
Did he ride out of Ridgeburrow,
to revenge his remorse
Townspeople cheered and waved
Villains and monsters flee'd their graves
As Milo the mighty Rode through town
The townspeople cheered out
"DONT LET US DOWN"!

It was a quest of vengence he'd seek
For years have past, that have been quite bleak
goblins and Gouls steal all the gold

As the mighty hunchback golem screams "duel-me droll"

The townspeople fear him,
Helplessly run they do
But Milo had other plans
For the golems unrichous uphold,

He slashed and stabbed,
Staggered with joy, as the blood of his victims
Fell to the floor

One-two, one-two, his sword went through and through

He sliced through golems head,
Leaving him dead,
Just a slab of meat on the floor

And Milo the mighty traveled forth
Unto the dark forest,
He traveled with sorts,
Battles with pillagers and pirates alike
Did Milo fight with all his might
To make it to his mighty quest
Where all that sweet gold lies in a chest....

Traveled onward he did
Straight through the pillagers plains
Did Milo have a quest for his own grave?
No said Milo the great as he traveled on his adventure
His adventure was great......

Looking up at a tower
The clock struck the fifth hour,
Towering over Milo was the tower of Shiloh
Looming over him in a dim shadow
Did the ominous tower show more
Than just what was for fleeing cowards?
NO,
Milo opened the door
To find the riches
his princes had ever wanted to adore

So up the grand stair case did Milo the Great do
Up in spirals the stairs never seemed to outgrew
Up and up the tension was rough
As Milo unsheathed his great weapon
A sweat drop uncoiled from his headband
So Milo mustered the mutual feeling
Felt far before him,

Upon the double doors of steel,
Did her master wait for her hero
Weapon ready in hand,
Ready to use against Milos stand...
Stanced fearless, ready to fight
Did her master wait to show his might.

MILO screamed her master
Come for me have you not?!
"Yes you ungodly gat" shouted milo
Far from his throne,
Did Milo know his match or was his match outgrown?
Her master swung first,
Cut Milos cheek he did,
But when milo swung back,
Off with his head!

Milo picked her up, her ankles unshown
He walked her to the parlor,
Where he released her,
He let her go........
"Thank you Milo, Your heroism is now know"
Said the fair lady who Milo help'd go.

Milo the mighty walked straight to the cellar
Where all the gold and riches awaited his pleasure
With his might he carried it right
Straight to his great kings who declared Milo
"Milo the Mighty"

i'm afraid of the dullness
the unspectacular scares me more than any cancer
more than any mortal wound
that thouest couldest ever inflict upon thine flesh
because it's telling me that i am not doing something to live life to the fullest.
it means that at some point, I made a decision that lead me to experience the dullness
the dark side of experience
and I don't know what to do in those moments
in those dreadful
never ending
frictionally enhanced
time stand still stanced
moments
i can choose to do something else where I'm truly "living"
or i can wallow in the mellow and live dangerously in imaginations sleeping quarters.
i'm such a rebel.
but there's no room for resting in the dormant ticks
that's the time for the treadmill
or rather the spinning wheel
for this hamster of a brain
to start running in circles
always leading me to think the same things
"i should be doing something more productive"
at which point lack of discipline
motivation
and my love for self loathing all barge in
wielding several large knives
and hold the poor little creature hostage
if only I could afford better locks...

well, you never swipe across to get a smilie and a
equator all at the same time, do you?
unless you’re chiseling the hunger
for a sir lancelot affection in
ordinance affirmed in cataract contrast:
usurper of the empire neglected,
by hanging ha ha!
also termed hong kong... labour government victory
was the preferred choice in terms of what
the queen would have ate had she ate charles i’s head first;
hey... we’re being invocative of the victorian gentleman
being the necessity of attire in what’s defined as asia
content to be europe given england be iceland...
and europe be content with northern africa as sanded plateau:
if england take ben nevis to errupt in hawaii,
and call it the utmost height of clustering & suffocation;
i'll call something else something else, and not
chanel la manche, the english cufflink, rather than sleeve attaché ruban:
oi v. ode of pauper's elephant trombone impression in #a
of the carving of celestial globes alongside orbits
into the pythagorean universe: triangularly stanced exempt.

I tell tales all the time,
though I can never seem to mutter enough about the future.
Though times I believe miles are put behind me, the constellations fall into line.
And we'll lay stanced in parallel form, though my mind is bent in perpendiculars.
The tips of our fingers placed on another, magnetizing like palms to a mirror.
And when your teeth gnaw on the same places my inelegant tongue follows along my lips,
the flesh that shares with the blood between my bones will warm.
And I'll feel the swelter burn while it sears all control to keep from trembling.
And it's still unclear if I'm gasping or grasping too hard.
And though I have no pastor or god to look up to,
your touch feels like finding faith.
Will these sheets wrinkle or will they tear?
- l.b.

horrid for man, to become poet,
  if ever the case should present itself...
   absolutely, horrid...
       man can only regain something
of worth:
should his ego remain in his genitals
and his mind be filled with occupation...
not this, not poetry...
not: his genitals having been touched
by christ are soft and oily, tingly,
tingling...
         and his ego is neither in his genitals
nor his head...
  i don't know why they blame the jews for
having crucified him,
   i would have done so myself...
       he was in egypt for 30 years and spent
3 years talking ******* in his home country...
i have a "home" country to go back too also,
but it's hardly home, when you left it
aged 8,
    it's less a home and more a myth,
i speak the native tongue like i might look
at a derelict Aztec temple...
   it sounds familiar, it's almost of the same root
as the stated english, i.e.: encoded in a latin
alphabet that simply, will, not, die.
in kind memory of the historian Josephus
and how, in 1945 a.d. they unearthed
the Nag Hammadi library, and how the
two events coincided that simply said:
   as perverted as these? creatures of
the northernly-east tip of africa?
   circumcise a man, and give him double the impetus...
circumcise a woman? create, a ******* madhouse!
who gives a ****, if the counter argument is:
egyptian men don't have the libido to keep up...
we're already in a dichotomy,
we're not synchronised, and only swans have
the natural monogamy to serve the role of romance
and widower or widow...
   we're not swans!
         we're not born to interact as a dualism,
that's what's already stated to provide a dynamic,
we're dichotically stanced,
    cheating our *** by cutting off any
"uncomfortable" excess isn't going to do it...
   we're ******* far from harmonious...
but i give you one thing,
at least a god chose the male circumcision side
over the female circumcision side...
either side: the ego goes bonkers!
         the time is: when people stop clinging to
something akin to a tetragrammaton (†),
and see the relentless acronym n.e.w.s.,
          or the fact that there's a convergence beginning
with the story by Josephus and where they
found the Nag Hammadi...
                  it's still a case of
ensuring man was deviant from *******,
i.e. his ******* was cut off to stop him from doing
the female practice...
but woman wasn't, because once Solomon was
away from his harem, the women could frolick...
or what made man more aggressive with
revision given... in times of ultra **** exposure
we can safely say: god didn't warn Abraham
or asked for Isaac to be slaughtered...
god was saying: you sick ****! don't cut off his
******* as you cut your own ******* off!
and the myth of the Aztec pyramids,
how they weren't the sites of ritual slaughter,
but rather sites of capital punishment intimidation.
it's a bit late, now!

fake news or no news,
yetis or
                    drunk eskimos
loosening a ****
                   on a trampoline...
whatever,
                   one fact is certain:
male sparrows,
                and mallards?
blush *******.
                     hands down
i honestly can only
drink... what's tha'....
less VAT and more F...
     vvvvv'aha...
v'ah thought?
   - bran...
      brand...
           BRADLY!
   caught a sober sailor:
straight, no ice...
and i somehow received
a castration notice minding
these two bird species,
which exfoliated in:
dull dumb hay-coloured
female...
   my my...
the males are ripe for
a military procession,
and a unanimous yell
akin to the modern russians...
slightly the gay hurrah,
and more mother Ural
citing:               itself...
       sparrow males
and mallards...
          cut those ballsies
off an i'll crown
myself the last prince
of a Bahrain harem...
to appease shamrock
sheikh baldy...
              start
   flustered over a well
salivated paper aero-experiment
hitting slam-dunk
shamrock rap...
       eh... the usual...
        hand only comes
in second to exploring
the ****...
          kissing prostitutes
is apparently equivalent
to stalling on: blah...
        blush *******
though...
     in vivo memoriae mors:
in life, the memory of death,
guess death has
to revive owning up
             to a bit of life...
imagination i can agree
dies, utterly...
        but memory?
    hard to **** off memory...
thinking can die the easy
death of mishearing
   the term: future...
   but memory?
            blush *******,
the male examples of
sparrow and those
english pub ducks and
bulldog card game subjects
of depiction...
     no... i'm pretty sure
a ****** wouldn't
   be composed with
      imagining a scenario
for death being
        stanced as: panicky...
problem with
perfecting a deviance...
         becauae...
this mea culpa
      *******-shaving
mantra?
                 it's...
   kinda... itchy...
   irritating...
                status quo
     fizzy, or rather:
  boiling under the radar...
          mea culpa mea culpa
mea culpa...
                to have been born
into this sort of masochism?
       counter arguments:
     heading into a cul de sac...
like the genesis of
cognition
   with an chimp scratching
its cranium...
         nice to know
the fungus brigade
having two pence worth
                of argument
to imply:
         infested, long lost
limb,
replaced with a pickled
fungus stump,
or the "hallucination"
   of a brain and spine
            in a bio-broth...
   hell, if it's safe to say that
god-head-fungus spoke
through me...
           photosynthesis
edibles are...
                  what was the point?
a ******* mushroom
conspiracy?!
              blush *******...
those male green 'ed
ducks, and notably
the in-reverse
   niqab slit male sparrows...
   blush *****...
               you almost
want them to become stuffed
mantles...
      if only not compensated
by the jittering
movements...
   the irony of being
able to float, like a bumber-sticker
with an annoying
relief for body in ushering
out a quack... like some sort
of a squeezed *******
revealing a:
                     HA-to-Q-to-mmm...
and you'll never know
visting a *******,
given the nearing a week-old
        "moral" hangover...
trigger-happy-itch though?
      don't know that
                   'un either...
           a 2 year celibacy spree?
no wonder i'm disorientated...
i attempted the same
results from cutting up
raw beef into a culinary
party-of-one in the guise
of a tartare;
             oh god, it can't be minced
beef...
            nearing sushi...
popcorn sushi -
        edible bits,
             simulating cartilage treats!
kaleidoscope of torn
                   into sinew lisps;
and it doesn't even bother
me eating poached chicken...
  given the precursor
of broth...
                   notably with
pregnant-pouch-soft
    delicacy of certain
vegetables...
  notably a leak,
   an onion or a garlic tooth...
i'll admit though:
nothing beats
oven "hibernated"
poultry skin...
   and cartilage... of any sort.

One day this guy got off work
He went to a place to buy a car
"I need something fast", he told the clerk
"I just want to look like a superstar"
He found a Honda looking very nice
The dealer said "Totally not rice"
He hopped on in and took right off
He payed six grand but it'll pay off
Next he went to the mechanic
He did some work all over the car
The price was high but he didn't panic
The car looked great but wouldn't go too far
Stanced too much I suppose
There was a little issue with what he chose
The bottom of the car was dragging the ground
Maybe better exhaust for a more clean sound
Perhaps scraping the ground is not a good decision
Unless of course you want a collision