Or the epic of dismal creatures and pasty days.

Part 1

The sequestration and the slack water

The entrance.

In this sequestered nook we sit

Yet nothing’s sweet, it smacks of skit.

Here’s the dream and souls are thrilled

Extortion sneers, the time’s fulfilled.

The tide is pale and seems at rest

Hordes hoard up, begin the test.

Views of trickery appease the minds

No peace in sight, no pregnant replies.

Passion goes for the transient science

The need for warm and total reliance.

Meek violence. Myth calls on faith

It goes slow and lustful like a wraith.

Funfair is open; they greet and scour

Come hit and slay at a milder hour.

The bird is sick and spews at sea

The tide is silent and so shall be.

The quicksilver side.

Lost my way to Detroit

Bavaria wasn’t enjoyable either, was it?

Yeah, slipping and sliding

But that was long time ago… ago…

There were curves, kind, and steep slopes

Gotta warm up. So, they said.

Opprobrium, excoriation of the soul

Let me give you hints and run for president.

They introduced me to the wicked friend. They said he was unfriendly.

“Beware of the Enemy,” the sign read.

Not so much to test it out, but fear is their best comrade.

They lay the table in the innermost region of your mind

Serving up the richest food yet keeping the wine for themselves.

Moral subjugation is the pleasure of the perverted

Until, disinterred the youthful sight, the sword excises the cord.

Proselytes go on by their nostrils

Wax and whiff from bowels are the trail

Whose hounds are they anyway?

Minions and dogs bark and seethe.

They’ll chase you up, until their claws entrench in your inner self

The deeper the wound, the profounder their bliss.

The clandestine snake lifts, stiffed and perverse

Coriolanus comes, with wrath or craft. He’s going to get you.

Latch. Come here soon, turn up the key.

The advocate of torment imbibes from dawn to dusk.

For now, the milky dawn is sharpening knives

For the soldiers have to move.

Decadence plays a symphony of a certain retrospective style.

The Milky Way breathes and doesn’t know.

So, you might as well come across the very Enemy

In different shapes, and different tones.

Anything you watch, nothing you tell.

Ethereal dilemma

Glued to the robes of their old bloods.

There it comes the one who nobody denies yet almost nobody sees.

A real Thing.

It’s the undisputed lord, yet not dung.

Comfortably placed where the social ladder begins

It knows they will blink at its deeds.

Undertones under the undertow

Don’t overdo while overdrawing.

Then Timmy lingered for hours staring at a banana

“We’re similar,” he said, and said, and said again.

The wavy motion ripples her skirt

I love you Scottish dangerous baby

The smithies are working hard.

Who is going to tell me about the great old war?

Ain’t nobody…

Yet, was I going to tell about horror and terror?

The lovers of sovereignty, the adorers of the public altar, the ethically pure, the wankers of the constitutional praxis, the devotees of the petty-staid rights.

They’re cloaked up with creamy morals and principles that make their heads go up and down all the time

Their mouths are always wide opened.

“24/7 at your service,” it’s a strong keynote.

All 44 phonemes dance around the jubilant queen

“Milled,” she says, and the longa manu hits.

The dyslexic slaughter has just begun

No one wants to speak.

Her ghastly psalm rejoices, “All foes will face death and lie in hell before the night is through.”

Campbell and friends enter

Cast it all away

Lousy fingers squeeze the white stuff

Abattoir, this place is an abattoir!!

Sail on until the wakes of carnival can be seen

Solely tonight. And tomorrow may greet one more winner.

Don’t forget the binge is open although not free

Invaders are on their way home

Vagrants in shacks

What’s home, and what’s oust?

Inside hidden cellars are tangy wines

Submarines sink in the froth.

Ice around the monuments and the squares are desert islands.

Onyx, the blurred vision by moist eyes

None of these suckers will make you crawl

Who is going to impugn the status quo?

Shattering down clatters and crows

Dice don’t load and twice can’t fall.

Earthy flavors in mash of growl

Again, to be champs and duds

To start, to burn, to hike and crack

Hail! Exeunt omnes

The Leviathan is the faithful slave to the Beast

While the Beast sleeps upstairs, it sends for dogs to watch.

The Beast and the Thing

The Thing and the Beast

One time you perceive one, one time you perceive the other.

The Beast has no number. It is the Thing, and as such, the Thing is the Beast

You can’t see together what is one.

The One does not join. It is already in itself.

Then comes the day the Beast decides to redecorate the narrow prison we are all seized in.

Time for one of the factions to hail a new boss.

Veils sewn one on top of another, so that the Division may only generate indignation.

Water remains.

Consistently, the perpetual kidnapping is part of the game.

The most sophisticated creation of the social process that holds everyone to ransom

Yet, no price will ever fit.

Work to hold everything together, work to keep it going on.

Sanctified slavery.

Water slacks.

See, see the Beast’s flesh gleaming at daybreak, glittering at evening

Its flesh is so tough to chew

Its phenomenology oozes with easy solutions

Anything you may have missed, It gives you a place to find your very nothing.

No prohibition. It only tinges with black

The universal prostitution lords it over.

The Thing says, “I gave you rights to cloak your sleep. I gave you values to vent your spleen.”

Part 2.

The land of plenty.

The world is bad, and you are inside

Toss the coin, it allows for one ride

You lift the stone, one face it shows

Keep running on this ground of rows

You can measure if you’re in

Skip the queue and slit within

Get away and get around

See what’s still safe and sound

Tell you how to stir the blend

Tell me how to move and bend

More gold to flow from the stair

Still one to go and it’ll all be bare

Spooky dawns this age have brimmed

The dream’s gone forever dimmed

What exists can be gauged

The canny dog is stray and aged…

The barn and the stage.

Batch catch hatch latch match

Watch and patch

The barn is rich

Still see no thing

Cough trough

Enough rough

Tough is the time for those who lack

Bough plough take a bow

The embers of knowledge burn and gush

Crackling and swarming in the dry darkness

This stage is cold and bold and does not fold

Have your exits, have your entrances

Yet that does not move the needle.

The lethal town

Children killed

Stabbing knives, sharp and never tired

The stone of Sisyphus

Unity and terror

Union and love

Has not the past weighed too much?

Silly ambition, anguish seas

The eagle lies on a watery dream

Cramped spaces, drowsy sun

I have broken thy order to last…

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