For the day of wrath
I will yell,
the grotesque heaven
is waiting,
to take me to the wide antechamber
of hell,
there I will encounter
the master of darkness,
around,
I shall feel magnetic spell,
the wonderful sound of the exquisite,
pensiveness,
of the souls that fell.

The old prophecy is coming,
my new belief
enhanced.
The hallowed hidden truth
the day of morning,
the day of night will disperse
the world in ashes.
His angels,
and effigies will be waiting,
will protect me,
from the old god,
who has been found wanting.

The old one is now trapped
in cold heaven,
that resides
in the secluded sepulchre,
waiting
for his demise as he’s beaten.
Fear of heavens
will cut out all,
the ancient  and boring god
has now been broken.
The mighty expressions of the saved souls,
now residing
in their assured haven.

So appealing,
charismatic and alluring
will be the inspirations
for my heart and mind,
the trepidation
of this great majestic king,
will gladly and freely save me.
I am worthy of my redeeming,
From
the agonies of ancient,
and primeval beliefs,
which trapped me
into a world of disbelieving.

The descendants of Satan
are united,
in a new era of the virginal power,
the bitterness of silence is incorporated,
the forbidden secrets of the infernal,
by intense feelings
are exhilarated,
which will **** up
the darkness,
from our jubilant minds
pitied and restricted.

The chaos of stability
will take full control,
and will enchant
our enriched wisdom,
from developed seeds of our darkest soul,
while the heretic outcasts of heaven
will devastate
the earlier earthly goal.
We will become
like wolves among sheep,
in a weak  herd upon their raw and inflamed soul.
Let us fight
the good fight,
and may the power of death,
remove
those who are reluctant to incite,
for the sake of the kingdom,
belonging
to the Lord of the  fright,
mocks the priest
who preaches justice,
for he is the worst of the contrite.

The might of the unholy spirit
arises,
it will reproduce
in abundance.
this ungodly creature
who amazes,
with their eyes that glow in the dark,
searching
among networks and mazes,
who are rebellious and outcasts,
and will actually become wretches.

Angels of darkness
we have become,
to haunt
the weak and capture their spirits.
We are mysterious beings
living in whoredom,
taking the form of the profane icons,
staring
into the jealous eyes of God
who became lonesome.
Satan
will strike violently
into the earth,
where in his new kingdom
everyone is welcome.

Behold the king
who is the wonder of wonders,
the master of the horn
the healer of the repelled souls,
enter the darkness
with your new chancellors,
unconsecrated
spirits from the heretical sites,
exploding
into a blazing fire of demonic colours.
The burning effigies
shalt strike into the heart of the pious,
and shall burn forever in all corners.

For that which is written we shall rejoice,
the strong winds will carry Satan’s voice,

I say out loudly
I have listened to the inadequate cries,
gazed deeply
into my devil's eyes.

The Lord of darkness is awakened from his eternal sleep,
and I can hear the father, the son and the ghost weep.

Whoredom as :- Unlawful ****** relations

Another night, another song, another legion showcase

Some friendly folk just out for fun, an acoustic disgrace.

It's little cash, but lots of fun spinning discs on weekends

I play a few and sit and watch the wanna be's and girlfriends

In between I play some songs on the old piano

It's fun to hear them sing along, and see what songs they do know

I've been doing this for twenty years, to take away the boredom

I used to tour, I was big time, in rock and rolls great whoredom

I had a hit, but only one way back in the gloaming

We never had another one, and since then I've been roaming

The song we had, it hit the charts and stayed there for a while

I hear it every now and then, and still it makes me smile

The guys and I had formed a band, way back in high school

We played a bunch of cover songs, we thought that we were so cool

We wrote a few, some pretty bad but one got attention

It wasn't great, the title was one I can't mention

Apparently another group had sung a song just like it

We had to change the words around in order to make it fit

We cut the disc, it found a niche on a country station

We were not a country band , but our song had hit the nation

"My Pretty Little City Girl" was now out on the airwaves

We'd wait and see if she survived and how the country behave

Nashville grabbed it first and ran, the song went up to twenty

In only two weeks on the air, the **** thing got played plenty

Another week, up twelve more spots..things were going great

We'd shot on up from twentieth, now we're were in eighth

Two more weeks, this was such fun...the song just kept on climbing

So we tried to write another one, and off we started rhyming

We made it up to number three, and there we sat for two weeks

We'd have a fantastic run, but there was where we would peak

We tried for years to make a go and tried to write another

But, we were done, we'd had our shot, we're back to singing covers

So, here I sit spinning discs at Legions and at fall fairs

They send us out to do our song, but, there's no one who cares

We're just a band of has beens now, of wanna be's from history

Even when you google us, there's nothing there...a mystery

You see it happened so **** fast, we only had the one song

We made the chart for two whole months, not for very **** long

Of all us five, two are gone, the rest we get together

We jam a bit, and play fall fairs, although we hate the weather

The song you know, it's in your head, and when we get to sing it

It's funny how most everyone, knows all the words and bring it

We used to play to thousands when they tried to get us started

But now we play to hundreds who weren't born when we all parted

So here I am, just spining discs and playing songs in legions

I travel all around the states, I've played in every region

But, when I play that song for them, and sing on the piano

"My pretty little city girl" is one I find that they know

I never say  I wrote it, just it's one I like to do

But, every time I play it, it sounds as if it's new

And after I go back and play requests left by my side

Like "Penny Lane", 'The Gambler" and "Magic Carpet Ride"

I play what people ask for and sometimes I give a twirl

I play an old scratched version Of "My Pretty..do dah girl"

I sit back and I smile as I watch them dance along

Not knowing that I'm sitting here, the writer of the song

I'm a one hit wonder superman, riding off into the mist

Thinking of the songs I could have wrote and all the girls I kissed

My past,it still surrounds me ....I can't imagine what I'd do

Just think about it people....what if we reached number two?

so, another night, another song, an empty legion hall

My life is full of music and yes....my life has been a ball !!!

There is insincerity in my electric praise,
regardless of response I drip cool pools of soft cloth on floor
and utter abstruse succulent phrases.
Even with all this, I am insipid in lending lip service to ***.
I absently inhale acrid smoke because
I never pretended to be a hermetic socialite-
because it is a socially acceptable
form of self hatred.

Obsessive animality has become
disinterested sexuality,
I have done anything
ever asking "what then?" and
everything done:
has me **** in the eyes of men.
Gleaming ideals of ******* girl,
feverish licking,
slick sweat dripping and all this
boredom:
the initiated
subjects of whoredom
come undone with the gripping of slippery moans
and now lay soiled in sheets
where hearts beat fast,
striving hard,
deep in keeping the motions of man.
We are stripping off flakes of soft humanity,
which we feed each other to watch it melt on the tongue.

So very unlike writing,
*** is hard wired,
it needn't be learned-
only practiced with intent for perfection
and when the edges bleed together within the edacious mind,
all is bared
unclothing only sloven swine.
The truth is:
I only deal with shadows and
align them in a malignant play of poetic puppetry.
I outline a silver coated tongue
seen to deliver elaborate loquacious lies,
I **** deep at cultural control
and I huff full lungs of the social soul.

When even hell closes its door on you
The decrepit nothing that you’ve become is apparent
You devoured children and virgins when on earth
There was no preference; you mutilated them all

But now, where will you go?
The darkest place in the universe has turned you away
And your punishment, the removal of your powers
Upon reaching the end of your physical mortality

Where will you run to, when you cannot hide?
Maybe there is ****** karma in the afterlife after all
Beware monsters and creatures of the night array your path
To the left and right and all around and it’s always dark

It’s not pleasant, the price you pay for extreme sin
When death, you think the end, is only the beginning
Of eternity and damnation and whoredom to
Creatures who even hell shudders to let in...

Upon this hill I plant the flag--
     Of every imp and scallywag,
rapscallion, rogue and rascal, knave--
      Whom kingdoms' laws could never save.

I gather every varlet, scamp,
      Around the bonfire of our camp,
And pass around the speaking torch,
      For storytelling tales that scorch,

To every sullied man, uncouth,
      Unwashed who smiles a scurvied tooth,
The scarlet-lettered harlot, *****,
      Who loves to scallygag her mensch,

The whoredom-loving scallyhag,
      Who trollops round the pirate's crag,
The tousle-haired and greasy scullion
      Cooking all a hot slumgullion,

And after tales of those unnerved,
      And scullion's slimy stew is served,
I toast a round of filthy ale,
      To all who live beyond the pale.


(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

You Gonna be Cursed, Ain't Nothing You Can Do...

Dedicated to those who understand
That if you look at life askew,
Then your head will likely be
******* on straight and your
Poetry will set you free
And help me too, stay that way
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


You are refrained, restrained,
Unconsciously, the wire inserted right thru
Your eyes when wide awake and
You sucker, oblivious, clueless are...

When older you'll blah blah blah,
Understand, realize,
Cause you will be accursed
With cautionary tales,
Wisdom from cowardly fools,
Familiar with the stupor of life,
a/k/a, experience,
Symptom but one, over-caution.

With the caution that comes from
Stubbing your toe, losing your job oh no,

Getting ****** the night before before,
The most important day of whatever more,

Marrying the wrong woman cause,
You can't find the one with secret sauce
Enlivening your boredom with a secret whoredom
To anything but her, you, a not-so-secret serf.

Go the safe school,
Or pretend you're a rebel with pink streaks,
But that's b.s. too, self deluding
Real rebels only come one way,
Demeanor modest, keep your eyes on the
Quiet ones who run around happy when raining.

Cockeyed, squint, then you'll see it straight,
***** you, experience,
You take so much more than you give,
But most of us ***** don't know it till is
Gad **** way too late.

Preaching cause I am the fool
Biggest, sacrificed 30 years of misery
Afraid to apple cart, slept alone for decades,
Till I found the right one who before you,
Here, have embraced, repeatedly.

So when read your heartbreak hotel songs,
So weary-laden, no future foreseen,
Think of this, the only pain,
This heart break of failed love
Y'all write of, so oft,
Is the chiefest exception to this curse.

Live and love are one and the sane,
Love lose pain love again, dangerously,
Do it over and over, unstintingly,
Get experienced,  but never cautious,
Fail, fail, never cease to be edgy.

**In this endless struggle stay involved,
No pause button, no recess,
For when the love accident happens,
There are no words I possess to
Adequate communicate,
The euphoria of having thrown caution
In the garbage can, next to its ******* cousin,
Experience.

Sparse grass adorns the hillside
Thinly green against the grey,
Where lurking bull ant wolf packs
Hunt where chirping crickets play.
Way too thin to waft in breezes
Way too thin to really count
Like bad dealerships in Chevrolet
Mostly struggle to surmount.
Like thin pacifists in fist fights
Race, back peddaling for the door,
When, in fact, the convenience
Is a bullet through the floor.
And hot starlets jiggle **** jobs
Strutting carpet, red as rose,
Imitating, superficially here,
Whoredom wishing to impose.
Those roaring Russians, in denial
As their cheating athlete’s pale,
All denied their right of entry
To Olympia’s Holy Grail.
And insipidly they all collapse
In fracking’s blatant wake,
Leaving gloating, fat Americans
Gorging merrily on steak.
Whilst the oceans are advancing
As the ice floes dissipate,
And the clamour is ignored
Though Island nations inundate.
Fractious currencies do vacillate
In global bouts of greed,
Where the rich are fatly richer
And the rest in desperate need.
Where all truth is but a fantasy
Which everyone ignores,
Where expediency is the answer
And future proofing snores.
Black distrusts the whiteness
Islam hates the Jew,
East and West at loggerheads
What hope now…. for you?
Oh sparse grass adorns the hillside
Thin green against the grey,
Where the morrow is a vaugary
And worrisome it’s way.

M.
Friday 13th November 2015

Pardon me in my own symphony of madness
A tool of my own sadness, oh boy what a feeling that is
It’s not poor nor is it ****, so I suggest you sit right back and enjoy
For humorous attempts are only to take joy, creating pure fun
So here I got the run of the bun, Yeah it surely is nice to live
Lessons of the positive, dropping on the mind like intellect
I hear ye, dearly elect….Without any rhyme or reason
The one who may create the least treason…Holding onto your seats
Cashing in on all your receipts, Tickets of winning numbers
No longer living by the warm timbers, Refreshing to say the least
Some may call it very beast…Of me to rummage through moods
Many have given their perfect attitudes, Learn then let live…Breathe
A jewel encrusted knife kept within its sheathe, I promise you’ll never go cold
The tale can be told, in many ways
Spread out over many days, although why tend to boredom
Leading us not into whoredom, deliver us our daily bread
Thy concrete kingdom come along with street cred, as heaven’s mouth is open
At last it becomes very Zen, Living to learn
Rights under a government mule are hard to earn, no sense taking them for granted
Always being doubted, keeping a watchful eye
The lurker leans toward using the skills of a spy
Soon our story will be drawn to an end
Appending my wrongs as my rights come to a bend
Rendering my sins under microscopes as they unbend
Entering the light, being dunked in pools as I ascend

You & your tawny twin circle-**** me westwardly from my purely-
bred piety & righteousness as I tug my tug boat to Alaska to raise 2 largish women from penury & doubt into God's whoredom of clout

Theatrics, that is
all a girl like me
needs. Theatrics.

Come to me,
bright and morning star,
Mother, Venus,
pray for your daughter.

I'm in rhinestones
fixed against my black dress
of whoredom--boredom!

Who do you work for?
The Lord of the Grand Display,
Theater! Baby, blue fire!

Like I have just stepped out
of a cocoon hidden in an
ancient ageless cave.
Freshness of the atmosphere,
so amazingly beautiful and divine
greets me as if am jolted back
out of a long absence into the
present moment.
Everything seems anew
as I looked at the firmament
after a long slumber.
I can hear my pounding heart
as if it's just starting for the first time.
But this serenity I feel around me
eludes many.
Amidst the turmoil and noise,
the devastation and hunger,
the hopelessness I see in the
eyes of the young ones,
dashed dreams amongst the elderly,
disappointments amongst the youth,
depression within the heart of our women,
discrimination among different ethnic tribes,
separatism of the rich from the poor,
the greediness within secular bodies,
control and robbery in religious circle, lasciviousness and whoredom
amongst women already taken is heartbreaking,
increase of ****** in our society,
families torn apart,
the presence of ethnic cleansing
from these strange ones is disturbing.
My heart at the moment seems unperturbed,
but withdrawn from all these unnecessary harrowing growing pains.
I have seen deaths of the innocent ones
which society seem to reject.
I have watched bigotry unleashed
and put in place by the trusted people.
Unwittingly there's anarchy within.
I watched as a spectator looking at the tumultuous ebbs of the ocean tides,
the breakdown of law and
order amongst the people.
But my heart is at peace with myself
and the world for I know that judgement is near.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme.All Rights Reserved.

The Australian women are transformed into love,
******* love and supreme courts in the silence and
home of Islam are the following women and *****
of tourism of the United States;    Singer and
musician and for that. That the United States
be the ribs will not change stones, rocks, trees, gloves,
so as not to abuse the kangaroo skin 13:00, Australia.
The best way to understand the city.
Then I asked about something to drink in this city.
The red Jews, instead of funerary treatments, are: America
in the public sphere. Life in the United States.
Kenya, day and night in dogs and cats. First,
the power team is density. Full cotton for Eric,
red or pink, red or green. There are four disciplines,
and I take the paths of the four communities.
Iran is complex and another friend,
but it may be different in the future,
but not long after Latino cats. There are stories of harassment.
The hatred of the women, of the fish,
the true effect of the yellow dog
refers to him to get away from his work
and the love between the couple;
All ideas analyze ****** ways
to overcome the shadow of the secular plan,
so that they swear to pretend that the skin
in a few words, guides their entire geological
world to sleep, to their search
and to the lifestyle
that almost hits Juan, as I say:
The talent is for me as the package gave me;
they drained the crew strongly 1 of ******
and 1, and when Joseph saw it, they fell into
whoredom and turned to look at the crying.
Large animals, long with long four names
at the end of each year, pink or red after reading should change effects; bedding, silk, cotton, according to the conditions specified in the future,
will break AMERICA, ITALY, and George's 200 *******
and 200 cats considered as another interpretation,
under the powerful robotic equipment
in the Christian Memory Specialism;
the reason why the mother tiregegechi
of Kenya forces the world of Yekniyewiyeni
culture and tradition. Women love Australia
Upon Seeing it: I love Islam, the highest court
of the Tyustus family, for example,
women in the United States; tourism,
singers and musicians are the cause.
In the United State, the UN will not change rocks on the coast;
rocks, trees and gloves for addiction.
ACLU 13:00 Australia. The best way to understand the city.
Then I asked about something to drink in this city.
Jewish funeral treatments. America in the public sphere.
In the United States, Kenya,
the **** day and at night it rained a lot.
The first is the total force of violence against violence.
The shepherds restore everything,
red, green, pink, red, green.
Four were in four places. Iran is very ugly,
another friend, but not in the future,
but not too long for the Latino cats.
He talks about scary stories. The women
hate the *** and shoot the ******
and they need a war hero, Einstein, Kennedy, a batch of vitamin A
and an Italian Renaissance. In the name of the biggest problems,
I expect 100 animals to die in Canada.
Mark Arthur went to meet him, said Paul.
According to sources, *****'s guitars
and brain drain will develop Douglas.
Red, red, purple, silk, cotton. In addition,
four proteins were created. Iran, the truth
is that it will be very difficult, ******
and friends of different types, but the question is worrisome,
a quarter of the children, but all citizens,
the same forces of peace in their stores,
plus 200m of war are sent. For several months,
some good languages ​​are Greek-American
and Latin-American. The death of coal.
However, the problem is of the low-value activities.
George said that the doctor in Italy is a good animal.
The word robot is a success story.
The men of the ******, Wade and John are at home,
burned, burned or hostile, ******
and the equipment is on fire. We cannot sleep.
The mother of vitamins, Bibi Einstein
is another angel in Canada. This is a very important
factor in the summer to read the names
of the four years after each change in a blink of pink,
silk and cotton, says Grant, but for the future
of Latin America, George, approximately 200 in total.
Italian ******, 200 can be considered.
You can see from here, we filmed the story of Tilly
or the Christian robot mom supporting this type of memory image. Gegelechi part of the world of Kenya,
Yekniyewiyd and a survivor has delivered
more than .4487 / 5000A. The Australian
Mojna loves Ammar, the full video of Ammar's Semar of Islam.
Tynus and their homes includes the WHO and the Uk,
for example, the following women and Torizmo ||
in the US Kingdom States.
Singer, music, and this is the reason. FN fig. 0

When you can laugh at loss
Throw ******* up to fear
Find comfort in discomfort
Normality in the odd and queer

When you're warmed by the cold
Thrilled by protracted boredom
Find patterns in the chaos
Naiveté and dignity in whoredom

When you hear a choruses in silence
Then silence in bird songs
Find love blossoming in hatred
Nothingness amongst the throngs

When you come to terms with conflict
Then make confusion from clear-sight
Find innocence in the ******
Now damsels save distressed Knights.

When you come to ease with the end
Then worship the beginning
Find nothing is real but the now
Now that you are winning

If I were to live in another time,
I may be called a temple priestess.
But today, we servants of the Goddess
are despised and called “******.”
Why is it wrong
to be a lover of men?
Why is it a crime
to make a living serving them?
Why can’t they see
that I too make an offering to the Most High?
Every cell of my body enjoys
pleasuring men.
I love the way men feel.
I savor the way men smell.
I yearn for the ferocity,
the animalness of men’s passion;
the way they grab me
and move.
I give pleasure,
I receive pleasure.
It feels so safe and snug
when I have a man inside.
Watching men ******
throws me over the edge.
I am Aphrodite’s temple,
the sunny place where men visit
to seek warmth and healing.
Let me stay true to my ***** self.
Why feel ashamed
about loving to ****?
Why feel guilty about
the act that brings us all here?
It’s how you and I are made.
Delicious ***,
the very spice of life,
makes my garden bloom.
Let me take pride of my whoredom;
it’s the place where I live and create.
Don’t make me apologize,
for this is the sacred path I choose.
What an honor to serve pleasure,
to be the holy receptacle.
It’s my calling and my gift.
This is what life is about--
serving others, sharing joy,
re-creating life with carnal music,
making myself
quiver and come.

And all the Rainbows on my bed
with their colorful tunes full of laughter
and those gateway suns of her's
Couldn t wipe out
The shadows that lay in my head

All the italian spring on my time
pools of rain and pain for fools that make her laugh and cry
were for both of us
but the premices of our dawn
and the silver worth losing
Down the golden road

oh smile at my window
Reflects swearing up the block
Of stolen nights, in mindless chimes
Purple evenings, with your face in my haze
My smokes before my eyes
Hid that tenderness under my threadbare hands
that couldn t give and wait, weep and break
boy, don t you dare asking what you never gave
Tell me sweet faced girl, which step did i miss, on the staircase of your love

(the sound of footsteps in my memory.
wipe the dust of memories off your shoes!
...silence at my doorstep...)




They locked smile into smile
And time ran the soft chain around their wrists
them that could not stir a single sigh from past
and who with clenched teeth looked back in wonder
palms aimless, aimlessly reaching for the sun that never falls, but neither stays
On bitter pillows they laid each night,
From prayer to blasphemy they racked

And painted blue eyes black,
For the requiem

Parchment throats that breath but to burn
Glitter eyes under the makeup of lies
Alcohol hands rising through their mightlessness
And sweet, sweet heart that cries but no one...

O girls of the west, your windy laughter
Is it made for the leaves of my youth?
Do you remember her when you remind me of her face?
blended though pure, serene traits of whoredom cavalcade your dances
The fall in its glory, throw myself golden limp
On velvet flesh billowing, clawed, teeth gnawed, throw myself broken beast rampaging
wrecking and wracking through your hours of shadiness, through your shades of impudor...

Gorgeous...

Fling your tongue, snake in tasty waters
Pierce my heart, bass drum to your beat
Red harbour of my lust, scorned love
for scared trials, and scared fingers
Red harbour of my lust, oooh
The time is drawing close
can t you feel when the night pursues
That sometimes when the light is right
And it agrees w the dark, the dark w the shade, and the shade w the sound and the sound w the blood
and the blood w the fruit
and the fruit w the seed
and the seed w the brain
and the mind w it
and the mind w the pride
and the pride w the strength
and the strength w the taste
anf the taste w the girl
and the girl w the night
if the night pursues, when all and all agree together, the night pursues alone
Can t you feel then. You are a god.

"Gorgeous, I am a god"
"But are you mine?" shimmer smirk, that me eye caught. -Shall I get closer-arm to waist, close...closer
Mocking pout, disavowing tighs,
her eyes fell inside for the beat
Catch it back that twinkle in the air boy
Closer...
I got your eyes back gorgeous.
Questions lash
"I am a god"
kindling sigh
Sugar sigh
Surrender sigh

Gorgeous...
Thats when the whip comes in,
"I am a god" thinkst thou no more
Thats when the whip comes in, and wait for the great fleet to anchor... "anchor..." said she,
Red harbour of my lust...
in the ****** of your charms I stole my deity, silver goddess you re truly, get back, get back on your knee
Plead and plead, ablaze beat
Tide to tide, swirling heat
Burn for burns, licking seat
My's in my's... amor's bead
Rolling tenderly down her back

Gorgeous...
where shall I stop?
And where should I?

Lost to be found, every little girl want to be
Broken to be one, every little girl want to be
Yours to be her, every lil girl want to be

The hippocampus
is a meeting area that will
open the door. The hippocampus
is suitable for accessing
the knights of prostitution
and sensitivity in agricultural
land. Marcos used his first
shot to hold the calyx.

For flying knights and sinful
sins, I do not see people. The
pillars are: the best thing to ****
a horse. The shop selection
or whether it is necessary or not,
prostitutes not on public accounts
should be successful. But it
is known that the Hippocampus
Scam, a city in the United
States, is slipping slightly...

However, their silhouette
comes from the time
of the hippocampus
from bitter character
life. Is the system automated?
I am sorry. But if I brought
the boy to director A. Flores,
I was happy that the Hippopotamus
Gipocampira Knight was the name
of Niger's wallet on it.
This rule is not for me
to give money to Ruth,
another negative tip...

At that time, the plane from the Father,
at the time of well-doing,                                                      ­for the fatherless,
that they may commit whoredom,
and the things which polio, irryn,
centaur in the loud music of                                                     Milli Emiglam;
University after the fall broke
the walls of the old ones. In fact,
it is said, with the consent of the liver
of the music to listen to the music
to hear according to their prostitutes,                                  that it comes from
the illusion of evil to come,                              of God and to the human race,
that Gabriel was of Coca Hippocrates'
they are hippies. I heard from my father
Kolobolis Image Millollo University,
wall we have the best food polio, food,
hippopotamus, and a music test scores.

Napoleon was not a child,
but a place to meet Hippomopsus
Petorides allowing the soil
to contaminate the threshold.
Goparapolitan talk of the assembly
in Hippocrates delicious and varied
pest destroyed. We can not afford
to control the best horses in the spirit
of and behind the roof. There are
in fact various cities in the United
States people will find something
for fraud and hippopotamus automatics?
I am glad they are as they are reckoned
into the prime of directories from the
Hippocampus,                             Hippocrates and the applause of the hippies.

god forbid we forgive mary of magdala.
god forbid we forgive.
the collection of stones thrown that hang around her neck,
(she smiles tightly and promises it’s adornment.)
in this case, the crowd was free of sin, you see. how could such a crowd achieve the whoredom mary did?

heavy is the neck that bears the shame. one that turned for mouths, that gasped under nooses and hands and her own words.

god forbid we forgive the girl from magdala.
the body, and no more. the vessel.
her name with malice in the clergies, a sensationalism that must’ve made peter himself smirk.

here lies the magdalene, here lies the hole.
here lies the whole of her sins, every implication in her smile and laugh.

and so, the women jeered too. the women jeered too.

blessed she must be, to have been forgiven, and to love and to carry such loyalty.
truly blessed, truly wretched — a name that tainted deserves no sliver towards divinity.

sin is a woman, sin came from woman.
the fruit that has scorned man from her creation.

a piece of rib that one could do without.
a ***** they should have ****** on sight.

they’ll go for the knees before they go for the face. they stay and wait for the scream,
how her face will curl, unsaintly and impure.
(peter’s having a field day, but he won’t let you know.)

hallelujah, says the first blow.

No lasting order
Churning, burning, Night
Boredom in the Whoredom
Go down but with a fight

Kenny Rogers on the radio
I too have a white beard
In a bar in Toledo
Not quite as I feared

Jokic plays in Denver
Rocky Mountain High
No retreat, No surrender
Quiet, Quixotic guy

Will I travel again?
Just now got no green
I drift. I drift toward death.
But I play for my team

              Go Scorps!

Park Avenue's rubber flood, its mastered
whoredom.
Hermes' passage, whose sonorous cleft
is repeated after--until its vehicular
usurpation is complete.
As if an anciently overdubbed rite.
On Oct. 4, 1986, Dan Rather was making
his way home.
His kindly signed-off face was fully
dimmed, as the American public filled in
the blanks of a broadcast.
Able to speak when spoken to.
Did he scrub off Live Makeup, or leave it
on?
Early autumn air was warmth's incorrect
remainder, intimating a tailorship that
cooly spun off Mr. Rather.
As his profile heightened, so did his
senses--beelines like rulers.
Eighties NYC was characterizing its deity, horns running up facades--Yeeping.
Dan's gentlemanly earnestness, hueing
his lips with delivery--while being stalked.
Nick-of-the-eye holograms of cityscape
intensity--a closed plan of attack that
already conquered variables.
Karma's streetless address of supposed
firsts.
Of foes, feet & frequency--homing in on
Dan, three dots about to connect.
Not that it couldn't be, but that it could &
would be--Dan was about to sweat-up his
suit.
His large eyes maintained innocence as they tried his skull like a fish on deck:
"Kenneth, what's the frequency?"
a voice asked.
Repeatedly this question was posed,
as feet & fists reached out from each word.
Mr. Rather clocked in the jaw & kicked, saught refuge in a building lobby--
"Kenneth, what's the frequency?!"
Two of Manhattan's Men in Black took turns tweaking a radio dial.
The staticky melee blipped, booped &
zipped straight out of an unfeeling
extraction of alien information.
There was CBS' voice of reason,
rained down upon by a white beam logic.
Mr. Rather's signal eventually came in
clear, as he was helped up, asking: 'Who
on earth is this Kenneth fellow, what of the frequency?'

Run away from all your boredom
Run away from all your whoredom and wave
Your worries, and cares, goodbye
All it takes is one decision
A lot of guts, a little vision to wave
Your worries, and cares goodbye
It's a maze for rats to try
It's a maze for rats to try
It's a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
It's a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die!
Sick and tired of Maggie's farm
She's a *****, with broken arms to wave
Your worries, and cares, goodbye
It's a maze for rats to try
It's a maze for rats to try
It's a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
It's a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
A race for rats to die
A race for rats to die
Burn away
Run away
Run away

intrepid band of youths, Ivan the matter shall
give to drink cold water, according to the rock,
the mouth of the six to the lady of Barbie mothers
of a perfect thing to paint a kid in pieces,
of the Russian stone was wet with the left
in writing to the skin a little bit of this we have heard,
the state of emo from the lips of the year,
and the area of these firebrands, nearly extinguished,
of these men, O ****** of nature
is the sum out of his sleep, eating robbery,
they were filled in a school friend's bride
came to talk, the cause of the revolution of the eye
of one's birth transmitted to him, the prophet
was foolish guys is obliged to smell it,
I read about the club of the history of men,
neither from her whoredom, and the first to win
a voice came from Wolff, the cops of life turn brain injury brown,
waiting for the Latina in socks, the ability
of a small thing ****, man to wife,          and he asked me
to go to ea animam my knowledge in the firm before him
in the fellowship of the choir, and they brought
from there the image of a window is eating
a lot of it is enough for the life of the missiles
of the Gauls friguaeus the best of the yellow waters
of the blind does not find comfort in the words of God,
and they fled away,
          and there was a walkway in the book

mother's disgrace of the day after the night,
a good red black *** beautiful space
edge light dirt clods poet,     great art body
years old dead white, his pulse Americans
**** expected gold wood instead of Jesus
snooch the feet of the living name
of the old glory left the songs the young queen
room of ******* the loss of a real war,
         the word of the poet 's difficult
to find the money to make a woman
of you thinking about going to be the stars
of the heaven hath said, knowing that the whole
of hell is called the good kids of the chronicles
          of the baby's *** is not an hair fall
from the blue blood of the great divinity
of the death of her ***** better than a drunken
man he came to the door of the street of the city,
Igor his hand, he shall live for seasons,
of the moon,   high-spirited young men of Ivan
the thing to drink the cold side of the rock,
the mouth of the six to the lady barbie mothers
          a perfect thing to paint a kid in pieces,
the Russian stone was wet with the scripture,
that, leaving the skin, a small amount of, again,
of this we have heard, the state of the feet,
to eat the window of the dancing society
is enough for the life of french weapons of water,
and the blind man,           the best yellow,
they would not find comfort in the words
of runs a walk book lips year-floor smoking
****** nature particular dream eating robbery
filled with school friends are married talk,
secret revolution brain injury brown waiting
Latin socks genius **** wife asked the life
of outspoken painting carrots cool to meet
origin eye birth fool was the prophet *****
guys smell history club I am promiscuity
   read the first voice lives w/out cops w/in;

intrepid band of youths, Ivan the matter
shall give to drink cold water, according
to the rock, the mouth of the six to the lady
of Barbie mothers of a perfect thing to paint
a kid in pieces, in Russia, this stone wet in the down,
and wrote on the skin a little bit of this
we have heard, and the State had to read from the lips
of the year, and the area of these firebrands,
nearly extinguished, of these men, O ****** of nature
is the sum of to sleep, to devour the rapine,
the days in the school of the friends of the married
woman to say, the cause of the revolution
as the eyes of one's birth made him cross over him,
the prophet was foolish guys is obliged to smell it
      be read from the common origin of the words,
nor of their fornication, and the first to win
the voice of Wolff, the cops of life
turn brain injury brown, waiting for the Latina,
dedicated to stockings,
the ability of a small thing, chaste, a wife

Suddenly Dolly Parton's ***** experienced total freedom as she removed her brassiere for several fans who had special tickets to see what the fuss was about. "Jesus! Her ***** are no better than average *****, like the kind you see at an average laundromat!" One fan exclaimed sardonically like a total idiot because he was wrong. "Shut up!" A better fan yelled as he pulled his **** out, much to the amazement of everyone else there. "This is my ****," he explained, "a **** that has been to war twice; a **** that has been admired by Jimmy Carter; a **** that knows the pleasures of whoredom..."; "Shut up!" A third fan interrupted. "I'm here to see Dolly's bazookas, not to hear strange stories about your ****!"

I like the Guardians
If they protect with passion

Batman in Chicago
And Hong Kong in his fashion

Drama comes and goes
Daily life is boredom

But dailiness is gentle
New Orleans is the whoredom

But I like New Orleans too
Been there once myself

Highway 61
I have very little wealth

Doin' it for free
When I try to do it

Still dream the cosmic sea
Will we ever flysky to it?

Suddenly Dolly Parton's ***** experienced total freedom as she removed her brassiere for several fans who had special tickets to see what the fuss was about. "Jesus! Her ***** are no better than average *****, like the kind you see at an average laundromat!" One fan exclaimed sardonically like a total idiot because he was wrong. "Shut up!" A better fan yelled as he pulled his **** out, much to the amazement of everyone else there. "This is my ****," he explained, "a **** that has been to war twice; a **** that has been admired by Jimmy Carter; a **** that knows the pleasures of whoredom..."; "Shut up!" A third fan interrupted. "I'm here to see Dolly's bazookas, not to hear strange stories about your ****!"