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776

The Color of a Queen, is this—
The Color of a Sun
At setting—this and Amber—
Beryl—and this, at Noon—

And when at night—Auroran widths
Fling suddenly on men—
’Tis this—and Witchcraft—nature keeps
A Rank—for Iodine—
KRRW Jun 2017
3.14 is the value of pi
Semicircle is the shape of a smile
8 is the symbol for infinity
Welcome to quantumly formed poetry.



Expressing my thoughts through cryptic theory
End of reversed evolutionary
It might not be self-explanatory
JUST Keeping It Short and Simple, M, E.



C, L, O, U, D, plus the square of three
is all that I feel when you are with Mi
Fa, So, La, Ti, Do, Re... or I mean me
Like M, A, G, I see... my world on thee.



You are my earth that is a twisted heart
I dream to be the he beside that art
Giving his best to be a romantic
Intimating through the fields of physics.



My love for you is three-dimensional
Taller and longer than diagonals
As deep as abyss, like cosmos so wide
but unbound by space and unchanged by time.



A fire started by a Maxwell's demon
Burning and shining from here to the moon
A flame so lunar and so lunatic
breaking the laws of thermodynamics.



Faring the distance at the speed of light
Lining the night skies like a meteorite
Traversing the widths of the hyperspace
Or cross a black hole just to see your face.



Escape with luck from a magnetic flux
Be right thrice a day with a broken clock
Above all that, there's just one thing I want:
To spend my last breath by holding your hand.
Written
14 February 2016


Form
Free Verse


Copyright
© Khayri R.R. Woulfe. All rights reserved.
Martin Narrod Aug 2017
Anything All of the Everything

Events of Summer quickly ensue, it takes hold of you quickly, while the police drive thru. You cannot find it half-way into the night, you could hold up on a park bench or lay your blanket on the slough. Perhaps when your dreams kick, your asterisks will come, build a map of your defense and then head for the sun. Some foe outwit the wounds of life, furry blister-like faces, when they take up the star dust diamonds, the trail guides take after hurrying up paces.

The festivities of fear are living oaths inside of marbled starve rocks, they harvest shoots and ladders, and keep tabs on wild beasts and livestock. There's no match throughout the campgrounds. There's no matchbook light to find us. If you're quick enough with your 70s, then perhaps you'll follow the nightness that's arrived us.

In aide of her lift-gate, shredding pensive miens and speeding mimes, taking ward of one thousand fathomed depths, assumes courageous anti-hate isms. She can come quickly with a syzygy, her van packed with fresh woes of Sunday, then around Monday humbly hides her stuff in the small hems of her bed linens. You can't outwit the governess who preys on handicapped children's thrift finds. She makes clothes and keeps her hands to bed. She bares new graves for time's new roman epithets and moving pictures. She  unplugs her bleeding tongues under some new sone for her monarchic archetypical audiophile party.

While the umberphiles sleep, nyctophiliacs stalk grizzlies. Mosquitos quaff at human blood, while their offspring keep drinking. The idle bugs throes, misanthropic and useless, teach electric lusters' mouths to grow into fiery hoops with which to slip past all the clueless.  The arachnids might dance, the haunting verbs they might fray. The Egyptians at first glance, try to hide their heroine pyramids away.

So hush little violet dormant flowers, fake your fertility and keep your skeptic drink. Keep each one you might meet, within one hundred feet of where you sleep. Keep your arms length's supine, your supplies out of reach, practice wrapping yourself up inside boxes where the souls can sleep.

If you only once catch a fool, avoid the plague-speak certain lips might tell. Each uttered word commanded with too much ******* across the bandwidth. Mortal courses can't be taught, human voices can't keep the draught, ferocious abstract engineered humanity has escaped this truant absence and immorality. You, you catch a fool, she could preach hurts and djinns, it could dot the I's of when, and unfurl the sighs of men. Berthed earthlings that the **** ascribes, hurts the worthless and sours true purpose widths of curfews and its curses, all these biomes perfervidly reserve the fury for their furtive perversity, elements to obscure the telemetry that has coddled such a dark conflagration of immensity, it's the cluelessness of these transgressors that forces the abhorrence towards all-white-everything professors.
While sitting in Grand Teton National Park at the entrance to Spalding Bay.
Tim Knight Sep 2013
It was with the sun
that they drove eighteen miles to every quarter of an hour
to the port
where they put down the car and started like petals from every dead flower they saw together.

Up the steps
he tried to steal her waist for his own,
willing his arms to stretch around widths they weren't made for,
only to cement the idea that they weren't alone.

In the cabin they fell asleep to familiar films
and woke up to see the sea out of a round window
and the guarantee they won't hit land nor port
until the captain's say so on the inbuilt radio.

They came back from a grand meal
that was of Titanic proportions, tidy suits and surreal women in waistcoats,
they made love in a bed that wasn't theirs,
and he witnessed it and saw
her new print dress that caught and tore and was reduced to shreds upon the floor.
from coffeeshoppoems.com, a place for poems
Nat Lipstadt May 2023
<Sun May 14 5:00 AM PST>

Let us be smart about this departure,
time unscheduled, yet leaving inevitable,
the sound of fabric torn, a rent performed,
a ripping, a release of the gripping, connecting
tissue of weft and weave tying parent and child

(All of us poets, all of us comprehend,
there are two points, two buttonholes
that offer escape or farewell, when we
commence on something new, when we
pen our chest’s demands to exhale, cease the hammering


Perhaps, here, just after the third stanza,
the brick enormity of our selected task, on chest,
weighs heavy, boulder difficulties ahead, now fastened
and faster and faster realized, begs us, quit this essay,
return to placid, from an arrhythmia of imploding loss)


So many fabrics, so many tears, wet and dried,
but upon commencement, the only finish line,
is another commencement, when the (mine-own) rendering
is finalized, beyond repair, when guilt gulfs overflows, flooding
plains of forever pain officiated by signed scar, “here was”

So many separations, varied and variegated,
surficial shallow surgical  or plunges, widths of trickle,
depths of deadly plunges, records of inches, dates,
names, new heights inscribed, measured on a door jamb,
lost, erased, when child’s door closes permanently

Came today to the West, to Pacific Ocean entrance,
to celebrate a good boy’s ritualized threshold crossing
over into manhood, both symbolic and and realized,
but tear-up seeing the small child-man leaning in and on
his father’s larger frame, a coinciding giving & taking

no bonds are eternal, for such is life, the weft must be
warped, sundered and separated, so many reasons,
experience speaks, scars are like bandages,protecting
but deceiving, what they cover can never be excised,
a space created, that only oxygen can touch both sides

but never, ever be reperfected, mended,…or finalized

2023
San Francisco
Dave Robertson Feb 2022
We were woollen
as the coach pulled up
alongside the C of E school

our swimming provided free
and municipal
so the stung eyes and barked, sodden ideas
were mitigated

at least if we fell
into the rank brown swells nearby
our inevitable drowning
could be offset:

the boy could swim
and was a king at buying the 5p
Highland Toffee from the machine
590

Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s Mouth—
Widths out of the Sun—
And look—and shudder, and block your breath—
And deem to be alone

In such a place, what horror,
How Goblin it would be—
And fly, as ’twere pursuing you?
Then Loneliness—looks so—

Did you ever look in a Cannon’s face—
Between whose Yellow eye—
And yours—the Judgment intervened—
The Question of “To die”—

Extemporizing in your ear
As cool as Satyr’s Drums—
If you remember, and were saved—
It’s liker so—it seems—
So fascinating black women's crowns are.
For so long we couldn't accept them,
Well if Jesus can wear a crown of thorns
you sure as hell can wear those curls, those naps,
that glory, relaxed or not.
Your crown, your choice.

"Yas natural." No.

So why is it my hair is automatically deemed less beautiful when asked if I am "down with the creamy crack" or "all natural"?
My crown loses its glisten when another black women tears me down for not bearing my natural thorns.
And yes I've always considered going back every 8 or so weeks when my curly new thorns start sprouting back in.

"You should try this product. Great for natural hair." But...

It's just that, if I am not my hair
why must it matter so much what stage it is in?
No I am not rejecting my blackness, no appropriation needed
my curls still rejoice, even if i didn't wake up that way
contrary to popular belief
I do not like my hair straight.
"Your hair gets so big. Are you natural?" No.

You call society racist for being so fascinated by our hair.
Racist for asking us to limit our hairs
heights and widths to accommodate their dress codes
Racist to change ourselves

"I love your hair. Are you natural?" No.
Well it is prejudice to deem me insecure, unnatural, and "bad hair"
because of how I "choose" to wear my crown.
Poor assumption that just because my hair is often curly and is thick that I must in fact be natural.
Hair is beautiful is various forms.

Please let me relax with my relaxed crown.
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2012
In a Garage During a Storm
I am besmirched with arrogance,
Besmirched with rage,
Knowing that with every Red Neptune
succeeds rage,
That I would ever address you.
But I am that white spider that climbs to the
Top of the car’s antenna,
And with one cigarette puff drops
To the middle spine,
And with a second puff,
Drops to the coccyx.
And so, I see that
Modern airplane rise above the smog clouds
And feel humbled.
That white spider who saw through so many eyes
The leg-widths
and pulls
Of such a journey
Reflected in the metallic chrome
Of the slick monument pointing toward the sky
In such a reverential, altar-like hand
Brandished toward the stars
Now slipping away
Like the horizon that recedes at twilight.
Tim Knight Aug 2013
Architectured backs hide secrets in their bends,
rising up from foundations built on brown tanline sands
secured with concrete cloth, tied to posts either side
of lengths and widths.

Ask the professor, he’ll know how to demolish a building:
he’s a degree in unfolding the unnatural
and his last paper was in firming up the dunes;
with wooden poles his tests were conclusive
almost allusive as he marched on at night,
but we saw him, with others under car park, notorious, car rocking
lightly in the light, light.

Due to administration cut backs his papers were never reposted to sender
and now I’m bound by glue
that leaked from their spines and lines
of the book
to you:
we’ll never not be apart
but shall remain forever not together.
this poem is from COFFEESHOPPOEMS.COM
Butch Decatoria Jan 2016
The solicitous Self,
with and in each exchange
of conversation's
     volley of commiserating
                     commissary verbages
words of curbs and gutters,
owns not its guilt
knows not good will
             nor for those whom shatter
in our drowning hours, unstill...


The Self is begging
for your idolatry's bastions,
wants you to find it beautiful
and superior
     above any other

attention and ingestion
gorging and hoarding
     the tid-bit compliments
     the cloud nine glances
succulent smiles / flirtatious lick of lips

the audience pumping up
its hot air ego-balloon
to beach ball widths

     a deadly kind of perdition
     for you, character fool
                    careless and distracted
blase' as a toad on a stoop...

It is a ****

the amorous Self is
     harmless, the beginning seeds
and whimsy / at flowering
in your hands:
              fluff and puff intimations
child-like glee / pleasing / blowing
nonpluss dandelions
nonthreatening
       in ruminations  
       N' stuff...

but like any ****
when it spreads and takes hold
        the real estate of your time and soul
it chokes and feeds
off your serene prosperity
of peace of mind
of identity

a thief of your ideas
     makes your dreams its own

It suffocates all others
behaves with dismissive airs
      like you it becomes
                   you, who has watered
this pest and catered to its musings
      like a sudden sunrise it appears
out of the blue appealing
a dandelion, quaint & demure
                    yet alluring

The ******* that is the selfish
solicitous thorn
knows its own nature
     far too well
hides its hideous
kink so none can warn  
it is a war
      
with Self
the attention *****


Self being compelled
as all else
a parasite to its growth
a virus and its host

what she now only has to give
in return:

assuage
her malingered spell

she breeds in you
     a ghost of once you were
wastrel grime
wasted time
an empty shell

Abhorred.

Careful what the Self
is selling
the solicitudes
of obsessions  
Possession
Suffocation
                     not much else...


No succor for the Self.
Experimental...
Emily Raso Sep 2012
She
When I look beyond the horizons of another day, I daydream of a time that was sealed away. We set out to become alive, walking on clouds trying to catch the infinite tide.When I gaze towards your face your eyes become undone while each glance you return tells the story  of two creatures who craved the sun. We catch each other before we let out our dark. we take each hint of pain and light it in sparks. I'm dazzled by the way your widths and curves move while frolicking along the garden of passion and truth. Grab my weary hand, I have a lot to show. Focus on the stars, try and comprehend the way that each one glows. But if you ever so happen to stray from the sun I will echo these words in hopes of a face that ignites when you're still  young. "You are beautiful, as beautiful as the sun. You're so wonderful, as wonderful as they come." inhale each letter and exhale your bad luck. Seal these words deep into your blissful heart, and remember the girl who was there from the start. The friend who will always be, even when we part.
Perig3e Apr 2012
Three obituaries in a week
received from contemporary friends
reporting their parental loss,
all extraordinary lives
compressed within single column widths
and limited
to given story lengths.
Could you be the one?
To stand with me
And make me cover bigger widths..
To walk with me
And make me reach longer lengths..
To hold my hand
And lead me to greater heights!

Should you be the one,
To kiss my lips
And make my hips shake with pride..
To touch my heart
And make my dreams be wide..
To tempt my mind
And make me be wise!

Would you be the one?
To make all my fears
Disappear..
To make all my dreams
Appear..
To just let love flourish beyond the
Ear!
Wondering caution request
Lvice Jul 2016
You and I talk about beauty like we see and know what it looks like.
Though we never say why or how we think it’s beautiful.
Tell me. Scream it.
Use the air from your lungs and tell me how ugly you are.
Use that air and taint it with everything beautiful about hurting someone.
About executing the pride that comes in their own humanity?
Tell me is it fun?-
destroying their belief that the world is lovely and showing them how hateful it really can be.
It’s so rare to find someone who finds beauty in the downfall of someone else’s understandings.
  
  You see..we’re part of this tight clique and whenever she feels the need to be unshakable
I build walls up around her because she may be hard-headed but I am hard-hearted.
She’d pull me on a string but I’d always be on her side-or standing behind her-
ready to take on however many knives are thrown at her back.
  You didn’t ever think you weren’t beautiful and why should you start now?
You never second guessed your weight-
until suddenly their words are so heavy you can’t hold yourself up on your own anymore.
  I’m so proud of how huge you keep your values even as they keep being belittled, how they never shrink your bravery or your courage.
I loved how you refused to see it until they saw through your shield, right at whatever you saw was in your heart and worthy at protecting.
Please just tell me what it is that cuts you up so deep you’re left with so many scars that I can never see...
You have to know that not knowing how to heal them is killing me!
  You hide your pain away and distract me from the sadness in your eyes; you know you can’t hide that from me,not ever and definitely not forever.
I saw how they took the smiles from your days, like the sun from the blue skies
and rain can’t go unnoticed!
  The scary thing about having glasses now is that there is no more hesitation in what I see when I doubt it that you’re sad, there’s a certain sharpness in your tears that weren’t there before.
They contradict the fairness of how great the world was-
ah it was so pretty until you see that time doesn’t always heal.
It is less than amnesia that only makes you forget...but you can’t forget the marks on your skin as you can see them daily.
  Time wears thin and stretches ‘till one day you hear something snap inside of you.
Where does it end? When you can’t take it anymore and you long to not feel their words bounce off of you anymore-
for their shots to sink in and you think you deserve it..
You’d willingly take their blows...
But I’d willingly take all of yours for you.
  I heard you whisper once that I was a bully.  
I heard your plea..I know you were really yelling for me to rescue you and my mission was to get you out alive.
I’m not perfect. But I’d sure try my best to forgive my flaws for you to look at all of yours
I’m not a teeny little thing like you..I have curves that wind and sometimes I get lost in them trying to find myself.
But I know better..I cannot be lost because I know where you are..on my compass helping me to when I come to remain at your side.
My thoughts used to vary from, ”If I spilled my secrets with my lunch then maybe my heart will be lighter..”
to
“If I painted my face with shades as pink and vulnerable as yours then maybe I’d be as porcelain and fragile as a doll.”
  No. No more. I can’t sit back anymore and watch you break into pieces like fine china when I’m still putting myself back together from the last time I fell.
Life is a puzzle-it is in pieces-we are made to find the pieces that fit into our souls-
You are a piece of my soul,you are part of my puzzle!
You are my missing piece and without you I wouldn’t be whole.
  I only know what feeling whole is like because you have showed me and I will never let you
go even a day without feeling my love-all the lengths of it.
I can only hope I can make you see that you no longer have to question the heights of your limits and the widths of your personality-because they can go no further than where you let them.
These are the only things you should want to measure-
but toss away your rulers and tape measures because I will never give you a capacity.
  You are not a shape like a square where nothing is outside the box or
a circle when everyone outside is an outsider and you worry about making the cut just to fit in.
You fit in anywhere you are-so never worry about where you think you belong,you
belong wherever you think you do,and I will make sure that is where you are.
  You are a shape that defines where your edges meet and how deep anyone has to go to see you-
not the painted figure with eyelashes too dark and lips too red-
but you.
The silly girl with sideways smiles and bright eyes.  
  If you are a sea of jokes then I’d drown in any “Knock-knock” until I come to rest at your door.
Don’t give me that whole, “I don’t deserve it.”
I don’t care if you think you do or not
But you, are worth it.
  Worth all the nervous  “How do I look?” ‘s you give me
Worth the play fights and being thrown off the bed at 1:00 A.M.’s
Worth all the “I’m ugly” ‘s you throw my way.
I’ve never seen anyone any more beautifully broken.
If I have to stay awake forever putting you back together,
then there’s never been anyone more worth it than you.
I wrote this earlier this year for a friend being bullied..
No one should ever feel the way she felt. Pass on the love!
Butch Decatoria Sep 2018
Touching one moment with

Hearts

Eclipsing…



Breathtaking mornings,

Evenings of brilliant stars

Among heavenly resplendences

Upon the widths of our eternal sky

These wings of space we pace

Igniting little dreams to spark

Fully embraced by the dark

Unto us the firmaments of

Lovely loving love Light All...



New niches for our Hallmark universe

Oh beloved / mother goddess lover,

Will your wonders ever cease? No Never.
smallhands Nov 2014
I don't know what joy is and I don't think I ever did
I starved for the inches
And my lengths and widths became careless

-c.j.
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
Do you see, grasp in the nowhere and nowhen
the whole picture?
Register the tedious highs, lows, widths and breadths
before your private, iridologic rainbows?
Like grasping the rims of “allness” on the path of a forest,
letting yourself grow a vertigo, fragile and docile.
Every, every time you meet up with a person,
do you encompass in your grasp, mind’s eye, all they are, all they are,
at that one very time?
My vision dims out into dependence, when glasses leave, when the forest my attendance seeks
in utter loneliness without my harmony with it weaved.
I no longer have in survival advantage
but it feels more than right to fall, give over,
I give myself fragile, more just, and fit.
In that vulnerability I can see more than
a healthy eye can: Van Gogh’s work on my trees’ leaves.
That is what all presences, forms and life’s skies are for:
fragileness, undoneness, nothingness, reasonlessness
Bo widzę i bez okularów.
Mniej, a jednak więcej.
SassyJ Dec 2018
The blinded windows are shreds of paralysed glass. That brokenness....the hunts beyond the borders of the savanna grass. There was time when I died unable to work out this bare shell uncovered. The thousands songs that replay uncreating the moulded monsters. As the roosters awaken the unravelling dusk. At times the skies are brighter, others your voice wander within the beat of my heart. Paralleled as we are, hands widths apart extended with eyelids that feed the light across the oceans horizon. Sometimes, you will never know or read the words that are the reason. Whilst the world was against us, fuelled to make us disappear. Darkness overcame the starry eyes with lies. Despite all, I hoped you would have stayed a little longer. The fire still burned as our heads held up on the waters..... and YES when I wake up in the morning it’s always alright. The static zone of the melodious rhythm sinks below the sole of my feet. Awaking such feeling of aliveness. Sometimes love never goes away and it lights even deeper......
liz Oct 2012
And one day I hope to understand
how the sea ends and the earth begins
but never do I wish to meet it
because the sea’s depths stretch greater than its widths

and for many moons I let the earth seep in
and I let it build
and take away my waters
   but the sea is far greater
   and its unknown strength then regained its rightful place
   where those islands had been

never will I know the bottom of the ocean
but if I lurk
I will cease to wonder

and will have met land
Ravindra Singh Aug 2016
Seven trees with flowing winds
Leafs free in rooms to sky
With its known roots and kind widths
Making its own will reply


Several plans in twiggy stair
In cause to his own seeds
How i lien to thyself so fair
Asking horizon for more deeds


To connect ways to climb
Sheer growth in veins to wins
By grasp the matter clime
Leer faith into green dins


Flexures to its first leaf
A  seer , round and huge
Intimate bond to evergreen deaf
Connate spirit to age & use
In a lost paradise where the sea shrinks with feminine conscience, compassionate flashes are ratified in each groove and I calculate footage, this previous present attracts the magnanimous representation of the lightning emission of its speech representing itself where the queen judges the king Consummatum Est, with little difference from culinary art and its very dense genre. Here is the carious aspect of the bluish faskéloma or exasperating of the paws that move the occasional ones in sub-vibrations softening in the shiny mark of the sessile columns in consistency of its weak receptive propagation and masculine science, lacking what prospers with moist regulars of flashes that are cooling from their imbibition. With thousandths of his enchanted parasitizing and prior ego I wonder afterwards not far from a Para-Celestial and sacrilegious lore of Lochnith; Who, what and where would have been able to support such or such, rising on the beams and girders that make a whole for an inaccurate Menthe, going to the arcane of the seventh external love with clear magenta lights, on rounded ultraviolet reliefs, here is where everything lulls from the adverb Eleusis, seething with a consonant flight that suffocates in spite of a Pseudo Vernarthian, where it will go without any exception disrupting the courses of hesitation, leaving no more the divine portent and going back to the loaded Cibatus or barley in northwests that flatten ultra winter, mowed down to its glacial bluish water discharge in unequal thickening of fast secrets with thirds of vox with bordering called in pair of trios, and symbolic of a reborn flashed subsoil of a lifetime swollen in its low course and ministerial occultation that isolates itself on Patmos. The skies were beaten where nothing germinates from dreams waiting for thousands of those like me with acute senses of the Anthesterion, or of March taking me towards an enigma not posed even if it is not clarified yet not resigning from love or smelling in the singular uni-lunar desolate with venerable fulminations and inquinas of the branch of the bakchoi, which was whistled by an Aulós that was remade generic when restarting fasting from a day rebuked and repaid in the emaciated Cibatus. Such light grasses were polarizing prohijadas when recovering from resounding beginnings of the rhizomatous aromatic nuance, and from super life machined from the metallic oscillation of the fires and rites ruined in the aromatic arthrophagous of Lochnith, nauseating at night in flowing enigma and gramineous rictus, intermingling while he longed for the ritual and his graceful plumes in feasts that honored his Canephores transferring mead towards the bakchoi psychic adept revealing himself from the masculine to the feminine in aqueous positive bed and supra negative redemption, which was fading into sharp matter attended while the world was created that they would live with more than forty stratagems, seeing themselves praised before their eminent Truth. Myself…being its own tyranny…, which erects whoever classifies it sacramental, and notices the squalid lack of control of its barbarism flash when I still pursue the darkness of my purge that is falling even without finding where to do it, falling however from its end and of guilty thunderous glances..., what more public decree do I wish, for more rituals that you have close to you when feeling sharp minorities of its aftertaste although in double life and night your memory continues to spy on whoever denatures you from the paganism of Lochnith, more than a proselyte , plus that a lien conceived in dethroned galleys of homeland and fusca haze. Meanwhile, quantities of Omphalos from the ego micro center are distancing themselves from mine, my faded lost throne hallucinates lost knowing that it is a probable sculpted flash subject to the gleaning of the Cibatus in fraction of the cereal ritual, and of sanctified illumination with tableares that have to dwell all the times that they revive from the vivid purple red, and from the debtor clairvoyant mystery sky that is reviving in the revealed luminescence that throws it in ornate nickels and acidic rattles at midnight falling on a positive particle devoid of yours returning to mine, and preparing for the flashing praise that pigeonholes him from his crippled fallacious and previous theory suggested after favors by not being reconverted. Lochnith capitulate capitulation suffers from glare towards her beloved, placing his phalanges on circular and angular waves on the virtual milky river of Eleusis caressing her face and glare from her. “I, Lochnith, was on the cliff with my Canephor Aerse, near his Athenian paternal landlord, I was going to say goodbye to myself and carelessness, not being able to see myself in the reflection of the water separated from my ego, knowing that Aerse would not choose me, much less to my abandoned superior.

In Keri on the Island of Zakynthos, I synchronized the fall of Aeschylus in Leucas, which perhaps without my local would offend me by reputation and snoop on cliffside suicides that only see nascent effigies of the bakchoi as a potion for serials of life and cities of the incongruous dramatic space , where its tragedy and antithesis do not fit in the basket carried by my priestess Aerse. I am flying over the structures of the acropolis, not yielding as a deity who prophesies where there is no room for the world in which she and I can inhabit. Lochnith, jumped after her as she was falling down the frontispiece of the cape..., She watched him as he fell..., forbidding to skew him from his gestures and get close to her so as not to fall where the wind is more docile and free, intervening with pashkein inclination or entangling them of the vipers and rims of the heroic hair in a condition of evanescent reckless touch against her suitor, trapping her from the Omphalus that she had tied to her neck transferred from brilliant didactics before a puerile boxing of vicissitudes, and spring flower shops next to the flayed serpents of Persephone and Kashmar floating on the Lilies of Aerse. Prey to the escarpments and cliffs, she remained possessed among the sedimentary dolomites that emanated near her veins before plunging down the steep side in over cascading prayers for her, always knowing that he would love her on a singular base of enchantments while he looked smiling before fall yielded In the end, forty-one seconds she was thrown off the cliff..., Lochnith passes from one end to the other the Omphalus of her neck by a lofty plume ready for love, imagining herself in the midlands of a ruthless positive affection of the mysterious flashing Eleusino, and by the divided ***** that took them as they fell into a splendid world with serials and images of Aerse, tied to the prehensile sacrifice and the cold hand of Lochnith, together as they fell between their subconscious selves, becoming heaped and vivid as something plunged towards them fleetingly, knowing that he I was going to survive him.

Lochnith's gleam was northwest of Athens once lost in the scrupulousness of a pagan polis and cult that kept docked in the sands to find her on the cliffs of the acropolis, where they had lost each other after two thousand years since they Theodosius abolished by decree the rituals of Eleusis. With revulsion and unprecedented insight, Aerse remained a recluse with excessive eagerness to self-eliminate, possessing for both the due imagination that he had possessed of the devoid neckline of the omphallus causing the inclination of the avalanche and their bodies towards where they supposedly would land on the divine and Dionysian path which leads to the eschatological of Vernarth's Diokitis. Apparently they were leaving as a result of an immortal Vernarthian existential catastrophe or decline, at the same time of a rhythmic alkaloid hemlock with its Achene that carried them for any pretense by being triggered towards the meeting with Persephone without her or he knowing why to fester at Eleusinos as Lochnith and Aerse in a single concentric whole, and quantum beings of the octagonal by the straight or transversal line that slipped into the hypotenuse at the instant that they were conceived implicitly as they took him from relapses when he went towards Aerse, after winding up from his conclave Hypomorphic writing and Magna Mater Misterica. Under the established power of his ministerial, the redemption that went in adjoining the ins and outs was consigned to resurface from the subgenre, and from himself procreating exultation with the analogs of Vernarth that were prolonged in excremental purges and disagreements of the cult of what should be twisted in the ****** of the magnetic genre and of positive tendency that would be eternalized after the cessation of the active decrees by Theodosius. Eminently Aerse suffered on some semi-dead watery slabs next to Vernarth, she remained after the agreement to centralize what irradiated her humanly as semi-Itheoi from a reinforced gender that was cohesive in retrograde worship to achieve pre-flowering in all the springs of the world, where they could be seen together with Persephone in the finnis that was distanced ultra terrestrial towards a dowry of profusion and disproportionate wealth, not being categorized as a mystery rather as an unknown of a super method of rummaging in the lanterns where no reflection of Aerse could to be found by Lochnith after getting lost in the polychrome figures of the acrotera, lying in watery nitrosities on the escarpment of the cliff. Physiology will influence Eleusis with systematic naturalness for the active hydrogenated elements, and of such unknown prebiotics or phyto-estrogens where remnants of the great sepulcher of humanity are manifested, as it is found to rise from the true hecatomb of July with a hundred halters arranged with foreign beings towards the oasis of transition. The little will of the annals will multiply in millennia of obscurantism, taking him in transit to a more exciting late management by harassing the search for Aerse in a clear mystery already in the jaws of a clamoring night by the reefs of Demeter for those who know about Persephone! even being with the inventive fallacy of a addicted spirit in correlation to the rite and its lineage. Every night that he convalesces, he will look sleepless with the servile promise of divinity from a vision that fades from the winepress and the Boedromion party, moving from the born ****** position of a hierophant towards the mold that dies and that does not renew itself from Boedromia itself. The representation of Aerse was reflected with transfused majolica and Eleusinian threads when she was seen walking from the beginning floating remotely in the meadows of the knoll, from which the cyclical anagram of the lost cliff rises when it separates from its Adonis being able to expose them in mythological treachery and transcended from epic truth to be related to the treaty between Zeus, Hades and Demeter for the rescue of Persephone after being dented from the beginning of the arcana that sprouted from a distorted symptomatology. She aerse carried the flayed serpents even on her body as if she should look for them in an omnipotent volatile gray so that it would come out by itself and be unguarded by her gone eyes, witnessing secrets and resting in anarchy from where there is not and will not be. Archon or governor What a mesmerizing problem is improvised from second after third that provoke astonishment to see him in the course that he could not have of his cursed detection! Aerse was beginning as a curious Canephore, he came to meet his ephebes Lochnith after excessive self-inferred hypotheses by following him at her command detailing the Kykeon that paled her psychotropically from a discarded and mineral exhibition, of which she would be devoured by the numinous portent of the Mashiach with his Sunday appearance or concerning the numen manifested with the eternal powers in front of the hieratic presence of the man who looked at her paternally, with a crass profile like a Damian Hessian drawing them in, plotting in a colossal fascinating stealth. Here she wraps him up but does not approach him and falls, lost in love, such a Faustus dilemma, granting herself at the initiation of the portal of the twelve lunar months in Eleusis, with immutable years and origins where they will bounce to meet in childhood that made them known as Aerse and Lochnith . Here in the greatest trance of life, both would begin to overcome all the twists and turns of the gestated gloom that separated them due to the shaken annoyance and confusion still divergent in sediments of runoff and bark oscillations that emerged from the unevenness of the acropolis, until a meeting in the amazing light and divine libertarian of two tendernesses, and martyrdoms that purely push them back towards a new end of the muddy gleam in a found paradise where the sea unfolds by male consciousness and is ratified mercifully in each flash of the striated. They will meet again in similar attachments divided by the fluctuating one who unmasks the one who drives him away with his dominant ******, and ill-advised caudal space seducing the contiguous public and private astral bodies that have never been coarse or dissimilar in ablution or sacraments of gods the pagans, everywhere nor whatever its fragmented remains by the gullies and ravines of the Kêphisos. After the remnants in politics, the desolate serpents of Aerse flowed down the river, as a link section that declared itself from an initial that was an evident flash that enveloped them as a cardinal canon with bucolic politics in all the nearby regions. Athenians, after the vertiginous regressive parapsychology like an Eleusino flahsback or Anadromí sto Parelthón Eleusia, with the visualizations of Aerse and Lochnith when they follow each other through the learned induction of feedback that was arranged in the inclinations of both, refining their morphological bastimento for the purpose of instituting them as articulators of the evocation of the millennia. Prophecies were reported from the 8th century BC. with ends, and interprocesses of the eternal in the unknown mystery that began to be clarified with the reinvented personality of the amendment of Life and Expiration experienced with Lochnith of the month of Boedromia, fleeing from a federated Polis that would be unified to a substantial dimension and of sacred Eleusinian space with brand new warmongering for the culminations of being incorporated into the Hexagonal Primogeniture integrated in this way in the indissoluble ephemeris of foundation and hegemony of the Megaron or Opisthodomos of Patmos. This is thanks to the beaten serpents that were nesting the reanimates of the question with subterfuges that make the widths of inter-pairs prevail, which are consolidated as a reality of session and space, agreeing on the defeated parapsychological memory or future in the economy of two resignation blocks of the repealed Sacred Space, in consensus of the beams of the Vernarth Military Command forging from the beating sacralized ***** that cultly intensified from its mysterious nature and territorial domesticity to come from the attracted Agoras that were repositioning themselves with the metaphysical agents that they will be restored in the polis with the scope of furrowing in a civic action induced towards someone who virtually recognizes him in the purge of the exclaimed strangers. More ardent passion was added to receive them even being wary of further mutations vibrated with the Faskéloma, or exasperating that moves the tint of the occasional vibrations, similar to the tendencies of the Sacred Space of Gethsemane, with the disastrous passing of the aqueous levels of the Kêphisos, which it would mean the presumptive ordinal of unreal historical worlds. The parapsychology of space was absorbed with torched quadrilaterals that were hanging from the invoked meditation, they were lying on futile folders and anodyne Aerse molecules, which were still welcomed by the magical exposed extra-corporeal substances that were deduced as they were experiencing unprecedented transit preserved of the eccentric deconcentrated radio of the refurbished of the spectral chromatic. The precipitated mental field dared to invade boldly towards another unheard-of generator that dissipated between Aerse and Eurydice coming near the Coasts of Patmos, coming from hypothetical planes that flow for their definitive moderated unions. The static refluxes bounced in simultaneity of bilocation of the Eleusinian exordia that were exorbitating each other with the rollers that were uncrossing the corporeal margins that concelebrated the quantum crankshaft, and the fibrous distinction that was teleporting the rescue rituals unforeseen astrological

Lochnith says: “in the proximity of the mortuary reality there will be no hesitation outside of our body and geodesy of our lost zafral or of lives in transit sub or supra quantum, obsessing in the eyes of erudition and unknowns, while our contraption self-obstructs with our electromagnetic sensory interactions paraphrasing in the convoluted distance and residues of related-metaphysical electros that are reconverted into the appearance of a premonition” The ligation of the arteries of Cephisus carried the emanations of Lochnith to love him in a healing act suspended with beings devoid of physicality, on the way to specters and healings of a perverse, to repair his extra-corporeal suffering confined to those who condescend to the androecium and gynoecium as a unit of mental physical motor gender, at the instant of the exacerbated and ectoplasmic world regulated by means of the Vernarth regression that was going lowering your blood pressure, increasing your red blood cells side effect rivers intertwined with Eurydice and Aerse in the opening Othon, directed at Vernarth's outcomes that came in the bow of the super-aqueous ship with some fabrics from the ship's stowage directing the speculative and autonomous advance that was already dispersing in the waves. Dead cells of the right Lynothorax,  A savvy military mancomunal became syncretic with Lochnith, he was determined to continue reinstalling us in his white blood cells that rose when it was already dawn on the shores of independent Skalá, and in the circled cohorts of Phalanxes and Psiloi that accompanied him in minutes that seemed millennia, all succumbing to the physical dismay of the underlying necrosanct and telepathic prayer that took place at the dawn of parapsychology trances cysts of recovery that descended on them in pure novel regenerative membranes, persé of merciful acts that became thick in the flashes when freezing from the weightless rays of the ultraviolet, which was separating between Sóma and Gnómi or corporal opinion that was joining synthetic networks with indefinite emissaries and receptors, subsequent bodies of the Bachkoi chemist, already deficient for a compensatory universe and varieties that were taking shape in a disintegrated emotional quantum world. Each time the bodies were reinserting themselves into the full unknown and subjective material, the concrete material united in the network with each other as a single force was transforming into the greatest passion and sparkle among their own, reinstalling themselves in the Super Egos.

In the Latest Minute Dogmate according to the rictus mortis thesis, the globules would move like a big explosion interacting with everything, so starting everything from the beginning of nothing to the indivisible with optional digits of coincidence or inseparable digitized, such a phenomenon of meekness of aligning times were massified with the probability of finding them in the vestige of real anomalous presences that occurred millions of light years ago. Aerse replies: “My admiration, the sparkle has a measure of astral body in reason of the vigor that underlies reiterated expiation and measurable virtuosity in its perfection of semblance p and corporal providence, inquired of being transformed far from disaffection rather than a continuous healing . The smallest and most coherent in the fabulous Griffins will join my clairvoyant and component with the ballast of his final game, not reflective of another who can measure or predict him for an undivided being. But I am already here, and I am your infinite…, I no longer know of other bad illusions of trying to separate myself from this life of what Eleusis is, perhaps a cosmic coarse that is and was in all time that passes speculatively, for this flash that is reflects whether it pales visible or not, I hope it will be compact on our intertwined attachments”
As living organisms, various life methods will be postulated as an initiative in the announced Big Bang, for the profit of those who are real close and real logotypes of resonant neuroscience as a daring that will influence the progeny, for ****** volumes, exonerations of bearers experiences and evolutionary lives of the emitter outside of an ignored Parthenon, since the gender of the world is also associated with random ambiguities from anode to cathode, positive-negative towards a Hellenic parallelism of roots in life dressed with lasting vernacular inheritances. Much of Lochnith's electro-dermal conglomerate was in full congruence with retrograde Eleusian parapsychology propagating from Vernarth's Invisible Eclectic Portal, which was nebulously teleported down the Kêphisos River with saprophytic living organisms acknowledging it in indigenous originality. of the species of reborn Vernarth, and super regulation of the euphemism and mysterious underworld below their protocols.

Revelations of the mental-material, made reluctance and support of the estrangement of inviolate perceptions, precognitions, telepathies and premonition, which debuted in this intrepid adventure intuiting in perpetuity with the sensory corridors and interferences of a reality of body in an explosive world incontestable. Lochnith, was already in possession of a hypnotic mental reincarnation formula in the form of neuroscience vessels close to scarecrows of expiration, allocating the subsequent locks of an enlightened decency of the ethereal sleepy baggage and the oracular review. The more we experience the laws that explain his prodigies, the more our perspective of media and complete fiction will increase in something that begins to be typical of the laurel of a true slowed-down ******-kinetic process. Within the curvature and the dim light that remained in the Lochtian days, normality returned to them after this long epitome in the parapsychological biosphere, and the intriguing contemplation and even mischievous tenuity of idea that can die suddenly, after self-incubate in the intangible coexisting passage and medication rupture of lived art with alien morbid beings. For a character archetype, it is only known that reaping is consuming capital from the disruption of a non-profit loss and its incontrovertible paranormal, which is paranormal and parapsychological from the plane of posterity of life, which will be an act of peaceful coexistence in playful spirits, compensating for seclusion in the vaults of an involutionary dramatic past, if its material or monad (spiritual) is not dissected in the cosmic train of perception of unfolding, and of the concept of purging energy that goes out of its way in its seventh heaven. The hypnosis of death and purgation to whoever requires it in the convoy of their conscience continues to be a tiny unruly space that transports us physically, reverting to minimums that are neutralized in alien foundlings. From an aedicule depository to an empty body that is neither independent nor from the lord who claims it (V.g. aedicule of José de Arimatea). The impersonal voices that officiated at the ritual of Eleusis were heard far beyond those who could hear them merely with memorable spaced therapies, recording themselves in interspersed layers of sounds and imprecise electroacoustics in the serial of an alarming complex frequency of the regenerative stumble in an organism of Continuous movement. Everything spreads in bends of abstraction that revives those who promote the perfection of marigolds like buttercups that they wear in the clothing of the Canephores like Aerse, but soulful and latent ephemeral of the ethereal alchemical entitative of ignored molecules. Lochnith says: “My submission heals, it no longer maintains being far from who represents it and where it comes from, I know that its remains in me do not reason, clarifying more my journey towards the crown and vilifications of a nascent humanity that mourns me, and that does not recognizes by rebelling in my desires to attract him"
the sky closes in vermilion digression and you inquire that they should answer for the silence of confusion in the parapsychological aqueducts of Athens with Patmos. The organization of the Sacred Space starts with the bizarre totemic quantum by sacred paths, Megarons, fictitious hunting places, double surrounding lunar ring, curves of virtual walls, Propylaea to embrace the Vernarthian enigma and finally the Telesterion that received Vernarth with a naked torso that perched in front of Aerse and Lochnith, looking at them towards the futuristic survival with five digits in a quarter of the waning of his right hand containing the small coat of Betelgeuse and the Pleiades in inklings of the umpteenth apocalyptic Megaron of Patmos. Scrupulosity as an Electro-Eleusian placebo effect, went alone, dismissing itself in the singular of a Templar niche and towards a Megaró-Omega Telesterion for catechized who endowed themselves with super-resident halos and litters of priesthoods that fled in terror from the Aerse-Lochnith fusion, prior to each rudeness and their contours swearing eternal exaltation and idealism, to be reconverted into individuals saved and votive to love each other with third parties, escaping from small frames that still did not hold up from the ecumenical mess.
Lochnith Eleusis Quantum
Betty Redd Jul 2016
words spoken while running singing lying
or telling the truth
come in volumes lengths widths and of
a small scope

located in books on bookstore shelves
wondering or humming to see if will sell
or going to the thrift store to sell

words come love blackboards teachers
reaching up to spell a bunch on a list
for next weeks spelling test

wondering over to a museum to
watch a spelling bee
for students in grades one through three
the winner of each grade gets a brand
new dictionary and a spelling book

Words written by others in books
teach us how think see and watch
the send a book list home

for a test before the school year is out
words help us to understand what is happening
around this world  
while leaving us human beings to
step back in wonder
since our children continue to make us
wonder at the words each one learns.
Emily Raso Feb 2018
I can feel the growing of a new disease.
Crept in the corner,
A dust bunny collecting my failed dreams.
I just want to fill my cup of loneliness with another artificial sweetener.
oh the feeling of Instagram,
the tap of a button and eurpihoa shoots straight through my veins,
Everybody wants somebody to admire their widths and curves, as if validation of someones admiration is the cure.
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2020
I could never be a skyscraper,
never an airplane.

I could never be the Space Needle,
never the Eiffel Tower.

I could never, ever be Mount Everest,
never a California redwood.

I've a fear of heights, you see,
space and motion not my thing.

"Confront your fear," they say.

But let's face it, I just can't face it.

"Do it for me," she said.

Well, if it takes climbing the sky
to prove my love for you,
I guess I'll die trying.

Literally.

So long as we don't talk about
my even bigger fear of widths...
Michael Marchese Nov 2019
Contraptions enrapture
The thoughts in my head
Like the Black Widow Feds
Spin the global-wide web
Making beds
To be lied in
Belying the eyeless appliance’s
All-seeing
Spy-lids
With die kids
And ISIS’
World hunger virus
Deciding divisive devices disguised
As the iris’
Optimal optical scans
Are just scams
And we buy it
Like contraband-widths
We demand
They supply it
Reliant on intel cartel
Data pirates
Bespectacled specters
Of property private
Sectors stealing secrets
And quieting riots
To keep us compliant,
Complacent
And safe and secure
Our freedom-
Information
In their bidding war
With the state’s machinations
Harmonic convergence
To merge us as one
Motherboarderless
Servant
A mirthless,
Subservient
Permanent
Nervousness
Bliss on the verge
Of transcendence
To micro-chips
Cold, calculating,
Brain-drain
Pain-impervious
Hard-wired smiles
Like customer services
As all the while
They got us on file
If someone malfunctions
It’s to the junk pile
Of planned obsolete
Made in China deceit
Soon enough
The new stuff
Is complete
And released
To the public
Consumption
Effete, then deleted
The outdated being’s
Illogical reasoning
No longer needed
Not fiscally viable
When product placements
Make preferences pliable
No more investing in
Such unreliable
Feeling-based flesh-
Eating parasites,
Troglodytes
Nature’s blight,
Human rights
Merely an oversight
To the Lord Profits
Most prescient prophetic
Detective’s objective
A future perspective
On forced-course corrective
Behaviors unfavored
In apes
Less aggressive
And traits more impressive
To more uninventive
And more inattentive
Assembly line minds
From their vines
Disconnected
Preemptively programmed
To heed the directive
Effectively rendering
Life contraceptive
Selectively-breeding
Exceeding perfected
Like fascists on acids’
Exclusive collective
The watchers still watching us
Acting defective
Then tactfully cashing in
On more expensive
Preventative measures
To end such a pensive,
Depressive death-sentence
Condemned to a prison
Super vision’s
Sentience
“Arguing that you don’t care about right to privacy because you have nothing to hide is no different than saying you don’t care about free speech because you have nothing to say”
-Edward Snowden
Tawanda Mulalu Aug 2017
Cartwheel across an ocean top
and you will never drown again.
Flutterings like this will keep you alive
forever, I promise, it doesn't matter; you
are dead already. You were so young.
I like your body. I like that you can see it.
When you drink water it doesn't taste.
Things don't cohere but puzzle pieces fit.
Some fires keep burning and the physics stays the same.
When I look at you the puzzle pieces turn ionic.
There's another, there's another- it all
goes like that on a gentle march to sense.
When you were younger you liked things.
Older people don't like to sparkle unless they're weird.
I want the strangeness of everything to swallow us.
I didn't like who I am anymore. Longer.
Long, long widths of water to sing across.
What a voice my Mama had before I could hear.
There are so many ways of being deaf.
The way that death sings is so black.
Water, water, baby blue couldn't see a thing.
You still gargled though when the light struck your ***.
Delton Peele Dec 2023
My soul bruised ....
I used to be
Unstable ,
Some called me Cain..........
That's not my name........
I'm still me ....
Psychosomatic
Dichotomy......
It's not me....
Your labels
Trigger lost time...
Once I saw how
Little you thought of me .......
Past generations
From the grave groaned hauntingly
Mourning me......
I felt the splitting
I lost color in one eye.......
The other looked away.......depth and time feels strange.....
I tried remain the same......
I knew the cruelties
You went through  and how the effects would likely be recompensed upon me........
I could not be swayed ......
To the depths and widths of my soul
Eternal wells flowed love .......
For eternity.    
For you.........
I spoke kindness ...
Gently asked please
Never assumed anything........
Never told you
You had to do anything ........
All in vain........
You and your games ......
Degrading me in front of family and friends .........
In private I cried ...
You mocked me......
I love you ....
You used me........
I tried to love you back to life .....you killed  the better half of me......
My purpose was to love you and only you..........
I held on too long
You broke your promise,your vow,my heart......
Forced me to be what you made me...
I am trying  not to change.........
I'm not Able...
Some call me Cain.....
I say that's not me ....yet........
I feel his blood course through
My veins...........
In my mind I see
In my dialouge I say.....
I never had a brother.......
I'm still Me ......
Same same.  
. That's not my name......
Who are you
?
Me?
?
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
a mongrel breed of... davy jones' theme...
and something from...
conspiring with... a hellraiser: music box...
in between these... and...
     none... of these...
and as ever...
all that... within the practical english...
of some sort of an assurance...
crippling the "lad" from essex...
            the desires to scream
impromptus...
allocating all that matters
as making a napkin
of a punctuation:
or the reverse... you partied:
i would be cited:
no go...
                no go not because
it was:
bull-whip-and-boring-crap...
sort of an: "affair"...
           that party soon turned up
as having its party-shorts...
sodden... with devolving
into: overtly-impressed...
roller-skating vigilantes...
assortment of batmans 2:0...
'two-point ohs":
hardly the ratio...
            well done: cheerio... *******
& anon.
         here, i... to grieve...
the sound of... creaking:
measured... widths and lengths of
wood!
     begone! for what "good"
could ever... "happen"...
this is no other friday, nor the 13th...
nor "good"...
            this be... "the friday"?

what god makes himself:
repugant... annually? or for that matter...
what demigod...
no longer once a year...
but: for... every... single... *******... year...
since!
until... somehow... that payot grows
an eye... at the end: tip-off a zappa
far right congregation: "well done"...

concert: a trumpet was about
to be smuggled in...
a kangaroo... was... limerick in
limbo... for the pouch...
the confines of being: sentimental...
the Congo... this...deity of Cain...
this...
          shadow teasing crescendo...
O! what... norms are to be
kept intact.... and all those...
to be later bound to having been...
excavated...

silence is my worship:
silence is my crown...
silence is my jury...
silence is my "agony aunt"...
              little late: come the boom!
i die: my glorification of relief...
i leftover.... boliersuit...
iz whatz we make cull of...
the... retards at the shooting lounge
of limp-**** hard-ons...
there's this... seance of erotica...
that... has a knife:
because it always wishes for a limp ****!

patriot of the 22 January 1863...
i've seen the thieves...
the photographs taken...
        a woman is to be compensated...
one is running cresendos
of rolling hamsterwheels in her head...
another is...
making details of scourging:
from a details in picture into a word...
because: of what: is a ghost...
to be fathomed as: somehow... a detail?

i do want to see h'america...
the h'america of cain...
                no other!
america is the playground of cain's spawn:
son of sam...
       david copperfield...
catcher in the rye: sort of leisure activity
worth of *******...

              CA-IN!
your little affair with: h'america:
the disney the anti-thesis ofSiberia...
       give me the grizzly bear first...
then equip me with a kissing through
to a killing spree: sort of equipment!

then... only then...
call me... retardo: espressro: limbo-fucktardo:
sr.! o'k'avvie?!
**** 'ebrew hoarder...
what excuse is there: for a "minority"...
given the existence of israel?!
i see none...
and in seeing none...
is that: auschwitz: tel aviv welcomes you?!
Cedric McClester Nov 2020
By: Cedric McClester

Throw ‘em all
Over Niagara Falls
Who lack testicular fortitude
In other words *****
The ones who acquiesce to
The President’s calls
While he runs the string
Of misplaced stalls

Throw ‘em all
Under the bus
It’s clear that they
Don’t care about us
Because it’s in Trump
Not God that they trust
They want to retain power
While the country goes bust

Throw ‘em all
In front of the train
Congress ya see
Had gone insane
It’s as if they’re
Missing a membrane
A protective cover
Shielding their brain

Throw ‘em all
Off of a high cliff
Give democracy
A parting gift
Their oaths in office
Are but a myth
They’re totally lacking
In their band widths





Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2020.  All rights reserved.
Cedric McClester Nov 2020
Throw ‘em all
Over Niagara Falls
Who lack testicular fortitude
In other words *****!
The ones who acquiesce to
The President’s calls
While he runs the string
Of misplaced stalls

Throw ‘em all
Under the bus
It’s clear that they
Don’t care about us
Because it’s in Trump
Not God that they trust
They want to retain power
While the country goes bust

Throw ‘em all
In front of the train
Congress ya see
Had gone insane
It’s as if they’re
Missing a membrane
A protective cover
Shielding their brain

Throw ‘em all
Off of a high cliff
Give democracy
A parting gift
Their oaths in office
Are but a myth
They’re totally lacking
In their band widths











Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2020.  All rights reserved.

— The End —