Dedicated to the current constructive political debate in the US

Why spyder phantoms
Does your film so choke me
On this cloudless night?

Is it the dust in my throat?
The longing in my head?
Or that door slowly closing behind her?

When the owls fly
The fantastic colors flow behind them.
Vermillions, arsenics, iridescent chromatics billowing
I tremble to follow
An anemic echo of their wings

All my green algaed
Freudian slips sprouting in a hundred greasy
Toilet bowls of the soul
Grow and nurture my endless
Turmoil of rotting emotions
And again comes the
Whirlwind


It speaks with the voices of dead cows
Rotting in the summer heat
Under the flat skies
Saying:

"Return to me my Anger!
Have I not hollowed the ****** hills
And trampled the fanatic iron snakes of doom?
Return again to me my anger!!

Sapphire mother
I welcome your longings
Your burdens
Your low moan at the sunrise
But there are none amoung us
Who love or trust you
You soft blue monster.
Selah

The literal opposite of a venus flytrap
Apart for that quick second
That breath
Those words
A grin-
your grin
Worn as soft
as the twin peaks of your cupids bow


My lips
Anxious and white
Swallowing flies and waiting
For a chance to see your
vermillions separate

Truth be told
i have not said
less than what
has left me dead.

Every wave
a drop of red
splashing shade
vermillions wet.

Companion thou hast never met,
must be freed out of my head.
But for that first i must invite,
thee inside this trembling mind.

Doors only shut,
never locked.
Needs hardly keys
to be wrought.

Lore slowly floods
with each thought.
Fills each crevace;
n' caveat.

Truth be told
i have not said
less than what
has left me dead.

Falling through
each veil of dread.
I arrive
at Amentet.

Here i may rest
for a while.
Art of chiburi
from the vile.

I'll not confess
at this trial.
Instead dance and jest
with Belial.