Monday, December 16, 2013


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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