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Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Alin Dec 2015
before they made it public
they created the technology
to create living puppets
producing a tapestry of thoughts
manifesting
through the filter
of authentic bodies
and minds

their enchanting color of
implemented poison

they had two versions of the site
one the true one and one the public one

the true one was
showing the nature of a mind
in a spherical wireframe
3-d
projected space

that could make the motives
of a mind truly observable
using this hi-tech breakthrough
(hi-tech for their time only
i.e  their hi-techness is still
bound to time)
to/by/for those
word loving
businesspeople
and hired scientists
and hired technologists
and hired creatives
and hired psychics
and hired you name a profession I will say yes es  
of their time
working for them
for an almost literally ground breaking technology

a time bound technology that showed them an observable truth of the visualized data
a design driven and poached from the participants’ ingenious minds

the public version on the other hand
looked naively innocent
with an amateurish design
using a ready to go script
presenting an acceptable ‘good site’
based on personal motives
of hard working profiles
of young idealist sisters and bros
you know
like teddies pathetically hugging each other all the time

in reality though
snail shells were being used to implement
new poisons for the game
on unshelled ones
poisson as is French
would be prettier term
to describe
an honest organic fish farm
but alas

yet in reality that hugging was distant jutting

to purposefully run a game that entertained
pockets of those who had it boringly full only
to spend it for their own fun
but which they vowed as
for the salvation of their Utopian land made of the
illusion of their materialistic psyche same as their popcorns
which  continually justified as they  repeatedly asserted
these well learned set of words
on communal and cyclic ceremonies

oh my!
stealing intellects as such!
for the game!
game also runs in a closed circuit just
so no one can see it
they have all passed the Turing test
for the game
cool right
and it works

so who on earth could judge its’ ethics
once a reflection of their own minds
even unknowingly the game admins
once falling in love
with unshelled ones
may turn to the unshelled ones
like the prince falling for a Lorelei
they were warned continually
and then still some
willingly stayed so
in love
and disappeared in the game
loosing their body

well whatever
there is a place though
don’t believe me because I say there is
go find it yourself

from that place
the headquarters of this game
is nudely visible
with all of its partaking pawns
because it remains too low a place in the universe

yes there is a mountain higher
where lives
the inhabitants of the residence of the destroyer
who are a little bit bored by now and since some time already
and so the destroyer -they think- may as well decide to
wipe it off - hiring a well fit dragon that can gobble it all in one go
so that dragon excretion may benefit a famine of sorts in the universe
eating that kinda stuff
****  yeack  ARG hhhh
(or Namaste!)
:)
inspired by the last cyborg movie I saw- I love cyborg movies - it feels like homecoming :D
PJ Poesy Feb 2016
We married in the back of that old Rambler in that syrupy summer. Kitkitdizze mortared under pestal of our tires and its grind made an aroma of peculiar pungency. The moon was plump as an unshelled fava and I was about to peal her. This was all the commitment ceremony we needed. Stars be our witness. Outsiders we were, and the cliffs of the Malakoff Diggins where we did our rambling. I initially met her at her wedding to him, whence she gave her away, though rumor had it she and she were once an item prior to he and she ever meeting. Still, more ****** talk spoke of them being a three. This was all good with me, being that I had had that other he who was still bound to that she who had two hims herself. Lucky gal. Notice, I'm not naming names here.

It was our life and we lived it in polyamorous faultlessness. Gurus, rock stars, poets and other worldly scholars were all in the club. As gluey as all that free love was, most became unstuck in their ways. Hot, hot, hot sticky June crooners. Man I can't wait for summer to come again. Who's getting married in the morning?
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2015
Her unshelled skin shocked
Iridescent stars and moons
Shucked of her clothes
Nebuleiii Feb 2015
A few days, weeks,
Months, years
Have passed.
Still, I can remember.

The naked, exposed,
Trembling turtle
On its dying breath.
Still, I can remember.

The waves lapping
On the hollow shell,
Flesh exposed to the ocean.
Still, I can remember.

The memory of the
Hawk devouring the turtle,
Naked, exposed, trembling.
Still, I can remember.

A few days, weeks, months,
Years have passed.
Naked, exposed, trembling,
I can still remember.

When shall I ever forget
The cry nobody hears
Of a naked, exposed, trembling,
Dying turtle?

*In response to Lucila Hosillo's poem:

I witnessed
the feasting of a hawk on a turtle,
it was upturned and exposed dry
after it had been left by the high tide on the shore,
and I didn't notice it right away;
the soft belly
was unshelled by the hawk's beak,
the white flesh pecked,
swallowed fast;
when I drove it away
the hawk poised for attack,
I scooped sand with my hand, cast it at the hawk,
it minded not;
I threw a stone at it,
hits its back with a thud,
it let go of the trembling turtle
and disappeared in the air.

What would I do with a turtle
still alive, without flesh, trembling?
if I buried it, the worms would eat it
so I let it drift towards the ocean depths;
it was no longer my concern
where the waves would take it;
I didn't want to watch
its final quivering.

It was etched in my mind
that in extreme agony
the dying turtle
couldn't weep, couldn't shout.

On tv one night
I saw the shooting
of a soldier of his friend
wounded and no longer of any use.

When shall I forget
the cry nobody hears
of a dying turtle?
René Mutumé Jul 2013
shell fish unshelled alive
grass cut when you have the time
the spittle pouring out from a bosch painting
a thin hard back on the shelf
a cinema vidies with absolute teeth
maths chime number by number
a cat bites the last from a rat
and my crazy friend thinks that she leaves
a gift
as she purrs by the door.
Anecandu Jun 2014
You open your heart and look at me,

I gaze, amazed at loves colours iridescently

Yes I see butterflies,

Frosted crimson, golden lime, royal in splendor,

They have no concerns or gender,

but dance together excitedly at the nectar of your eyes.




You open your mind to my thoughts,

I'm sold and bought, with nothing but your smile as currency.

I stay awhile, unshelled, basking in the rays of your happiness,

Stripped of my fatty pride to straight juicy humbleness

You leave me feverish, just to know you exist.




You opened your ears to my words,

They bend in the wind like Sansevieria swords,

burrowing deep into the part of you that lays dormant and still.

Absorbing and encasing my seeds of love that want to be free,

you whisper light as wind while terraforming for me?




You opened your mouth and spoke

the earth around me shook as I awoke

the soil and stones tangoing with my new roots

nourishing my leaves and blossoming fruits

as I reach up up up to the skies

To meet your beautiful Butterflies
hellopoet Oct 2015
painting the net
with effrontery
crude, insolent
•••brazenness•••
and to what effect?

marionette making
puppets on a string
unshelled hermits
***** all riled up
quite entertaining--

so's the jerking knee
set your reflex free;
someone's therapy
should never, ever be
your online misery*




●○
°
hellopoet Oct 2015
painting the net
with effrontery
crude, insolent
•••brazenness•••
and to what effect?

marionette making
puppets on a string
unshelled hermits
***** all riled up
quite entertaining--

so's the jerking knee
set your reflex free;
someone's therapy
should never, ever be
your online misery*




●○
°
Sophia Granada May 2020
I am always missing signs
and the standard question here is
Can’t you read
And the only answer here is
Yes, I can read, but I can’t see
Long ago, when I was upset I could shut off the camera feed
Do away with my eyes like removing a pair of goggles
And one day I misplaced them and have not been able
To set them back down atop my nose
And the question of course is
Why would you do a thing like that
And the answer is
It isn’t really so injurious
These days it feels like I never see the stuff
Inside of other people that other people are always talking about
The greed and selfishness and the cruelty and the lack of care
And it has been so long since I’ve glimpsed and
Properly identified these shards of glass
I’ve almost convinced myself they aren’t even there
The only problem is I know about them really
I did see them before, the persons unshelled
The coals and flames and pieces of
God and Angels and Demons
The burning cargo inside the wineskin
That when you ****** a foolish glance you can only say
Oh sorry
Before blinding yourself in humility
As if there were enough apologies for seeing
As if you could shut a door and forget what’s on the other side
Onoma Dec 2023
pituitary phenom, muppet with unshelled

eggs for eyes.

whose dilation's the yoke of a molding cellar

wall, that has never been looked on.

a dry grey mane that wigs his skull like a

cobwebbed broom in overcast.

his slanting squat protracts & threatens to

dislodge his elongated bones.

each howling the winds of his caution--

caved in his overeager mouth.

a knuckled-up grip obscures the torso

of his son.

which by proportion notes the size of his

hands, akin to manhandling a loaf of bread.

though bread plays its part in parable, as so

its body bleeds.

Saturn devouring his Son, his head & right

arm depict the clean cut of a single bite, or

a meticulous succession.

the upper body is a thick outline of blood that

refuses to run--as the left arm of Saturn's Son seems

to gag him in protest.

his buttocks stream down his dangling legs--a

cosmic voodoo doll with its pins popped out.
*Inspired by a painting by: Francisco de Goya.
Yenson Oct 2022
Scavengers of the third tiers
thirsting in the unbricked malaise
of hoi polloi in incandescent underwhelming aggrandisement
in mindless toil chatter and strife
hawk babbles of lower fares

Feral pearls dulled and drilled
lost tribes of Eden in tormented loss
jiving in ***** and Gomorrah in Ivory tower of blame game
as lame Robins crawl in scarlet hoods
eating defeats hot and unshelled

Home grown Philistines bristling
shaded by brown and black hues sprouting
pond life crystals gnash and groan for birthrights in mirages
and cloudy nonsensicals' puff and hoover
into dramatizing fantasies vainly

The unwoke of Wokery amass
tis the age of harlequin warriors in drag
in consensus of Quixotic revolution against the Moor in sight
they spot designer millstones on long necks
in delusions their minds trespassed

Oh poor Goliaths how you have fallen
now eunuchs weaving rubber toys about
singing dirges mouthing ******* like inane babbles of toddlers
equality is not about sharing your miseries
your anodyne legacies is to only you and your rabble beholden
attacking my sinless mind will never be your redemptions
I did not steal from my neighbours

— The End —