Monday, December 16, 2013

Sickness


My blood, rife with pesticide and pollution


conditions my seed to be sown in carapace fields


painted in red beauty as the store bought apples


necromantic genetic throned thorns of the derelict


thoughtless deathless fecund succession of population


virulent volatile mutagenic lecherous lichen of lifelessness


be but if not the final thought, the final fruit begot of Gahb


be O but a rose by any other name,  through torment and pain


sewn in fields of the buried, misbegotten, lame, shamed and inane


swaying in the whispering wind instilling pangs of sentient sentiment


to stare armageddon in the eyes as a child, and say “let it ride…”


through the piety of the lithe, rancor and raucous petty chide


endearth the world of alphatious strength,  say “let it ride…”


salt induced tears in the face of reasonable, healthy eugenic genocide


listless bewilderment in the face of anything but arrogance and ignorance


be no penance for any but penitence, to insist upon nothing but insolence


wading through the corpse fields, a’slewn at the feet, my own crimson tide


boots made for walking, empty, but still a knocking, dangling on barb wire


for when the wind be the only testament painting preachers into heretics


swaying verdict of yore from natural veritable testimony to simply hearsay


what more should the organic ask for, spread your spore and spawn, o fern


be but earnings and yearning by youngling to urning be but souls a’churn


the bed of roses and lady of lace be the acclaimed disgrace above greenness


the tread of metal through belligerent rape and pillage is all but greediness


breathing, the grievous thneedlings stand worshiping  lead red baron lines


men women and children in the breadlines, move to the next on deadline


saying “fill me in” the names put themselves in the growing dead line


waiting for the sale on burial plots because it’s the fiscal black friday


where surplus, success, and indents in deficit are all that is on sale


the only man more red than the republican pleb the sexton gravedigger


lime be all that is white, necrosis of withered eugenic sin the only nigger


lime by the pale, tossed as rice at a wedding, for only corpse pits are on sale


those who remain dare tread upon the threadbare terrestrial death chalice


where the rhyme suffice in explicating chalice, phallus, pallas, and malice


Horus callous to the soulless breathless if living in mass grave death pits


Spite and disaccord, postmodern judicial verdict be solely if the camel spits


Livid and blasé through day to day affairs, the humble still but mumble


Gregarious and boisterous still but grumble, rumble, stumble and tumble


The indebted bloody boots of man march in red dawn of the road warrior


Amongst the rubble, where domestic disaccord is between not boy and girl


but an isolationist hermetic recluse, venomous as the virile brown spider


the gent and his family but the fallout of holocaustic nuclear armageddon


face burned through indignation and radiation, nay black, but reddened


hopes, dreams, aspirations, fallacy, and incredulity, all silent, all deadened


all but dead know what should be, could be, hopefully, and possibly, 


are never what need be, all shirtless hatless men acknowledge reality


The two types of human, wraithlike, pale, decrepit, listless,  bark as trees


The man who bleeds, the man who feeds, reveres the man who breeds


The man who leads is the man who leadens,  heavy metal alone threatens


the man of bread is the man of the dead, acknowledged by a capped head


Every triangle stare’s and winces,  the Abo saying “Fuck you fences”


Ill men and women of misbegotten houses and misbegotten habits


Bellwethers of the Graveshepherds,  lead sheep, revered men of Tobit


Expensed are those of anonymous nameless worthless recompence


The stoic archetype of prismatic infallibility of humankind left in eden


The patriarchy of the patricians reestablished, the plebs put above the dead


Exercitus continually exerts ejaculate dans mienurelles pui sacrifiant


 Conditioned as a semi-automatic in the hands of guerrilla insurgency 


The profligant patriarch and benefactor of benevolence, de facto monarch


Stands cold, the morose decrepit, the greyscale of hermetic ambivalence


Wisdom and correctness stand above kindness and rightfulness, in duress


as righteousness and enlightenment raise a man higher than blind kindness


The tone of indifference is the stark smirk or grimace on the kings face


standing above the corpse of your mother as you quiver in childishness


 the monotone reads on the heart monitor, but the tuning fork of society


Restitute to the appropriation and reparation of humanity’s deterioration


The derelict revels in the nuclear fallout, sickness is one man’s comfort


Standing by the withered bush of wilted dry roses the man smiles


stroking the vine, smiling as the vine draws blood, pain the wife of beauty


the knife and livelihood, for the rose and reignus commune once more


in accordance with vitality, life is not life without strife,  without a price

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