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 A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, and got in your eye. |
| To Death Eternal With Love, my dearly beloved… Better to end it sweetly than belabor my love… clenched in firm grasp before I let you slip into the blue, washing cascade taking you through, as I refuse regret — lost another chance, at love return… where mud dries, life firming keeps you permanent and grounded, dreamless, without love-passion eternal… nor free for anything better one’s dull eyes might spy but end you and I before love’s return, my dour frown — where I leave you in permanence, no other choice found. Accept and push you down, with two hands, my love — I must drown under clear, soft of rippling and hovering ether — wavy memory, hoping not to see such despair, because… no design, but another misery — nor long left for we two that cherished a christening sun — burnt flesh fading, faith lingering in shade, as you shadow with nothing… so, end sweet, quick, love…no longer delaying, beneath icy surface we die before death with knowing an eminence of any deceit still showing, how.to.kill.love. Release that grasp son, gone now, time to let her slip. Sun falls quick to unsettlement, earth scorched, devouring what remains amid cinder in an accelerant container…full. 5.29.25 22 lines, free verse Went too long…can truncate to alleviate burdened verbiage…probably won’t (Eyore) There could be more verses, but had to end … Resubmerging — (Midnight In Harlem echoing with verses and chorus, as I wrote…pronouncing organ, especially, like Gospel.) |
| Pity Doesn’t Apply (Mortality) Half blind, half dead We walk through life holding on to innocence Deluded from mortality Helpless, abandoned like a child’s broken toy We want to cry out, Mother? Father? My true love?? Wonder, Do we truly exist? Frozen in unshakeable nightmare scene One frame projected Why grieve after innocence lost, accept Dead all these years If you feel a sensation, absorb it, hold on Savor the days remaining https://www.thehaughtyculturist.com/films/dont-look-now-1973-themes-analysis-exp... Reviewer wrong. He wanted to die from guilt, be wrongfully persecuted by something morally reprehensible, justify error life. 5.6.25 I could feel true death inch closer and not give a fuck. I’m here. My time is now, and every single moment I still draw breath. Exhale whatever toxin that doesn’t apply, I nurture myself. Life’s pity doesn’t apply. You need it? Take it for yourself. (Something confrontational redacted to spare them) Beady You could see sawdust puff from his ears, when my mitre saw cut between his beedy eyes’ glare. I had something more blunt in mind, but stuffing requires larger orifices. Cut first, measure twice afterward…then, the hammer. I think Apple auto-correct is attempting to redact words by ignorantly not suggesting them, or underlining correct words as if they don’t apply or exist.  EVERYBODY, OFF THE INTERNET NOW! SAVE YOURSELVES! Dystopia is…already a reality. Tunes into the Bully Puppet show watching for latest in Nazi News. Calling it something different doesn’t make it different Bliss = Ignorance / Ignorance = Sex in the woods at night with a crazed killer on the loose Really, apply what you want. The I Told You So letterhead writing pad is purchased and ready for additional witticism, envelope and bottle to stuff in with gasoline and a little rag. SAVE YOURSELF! *throat hoarse* None of this means anything, until they come to clear out casualties and read my final warnings. They’ll probably comment on my grammar.     T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| I cannot say nothing, nor anything. Let’s give more words proper burial beneath the unmarked As yet, squinting Some Poet With His Words: I took 2 big handfuls of life, spat on each — then threw to ground to boot-stomp-snuff out. What does it mean? Shrug. These thoughts of words that rumble in and out I decide to not ignore, write down, but not follow further to flesh out because the composition no more needs to stand before what’s loosely termed audience because there is no true interaction among writers when a soul that could share empathy for others has yet been visualized, material, with regard for contributions, once called content, as it is just a pile of this now, which I could stand over to direct watch a decay, death feign melding with her, insoluble postulates pooling with its own filth ignorance in dirt. It’s proof — of lies lacking/truth existence in the charade forced to live, to comply, or be out here inside viewing a filmy mirror of myself in missed givings. Not going near why did you have me mom? as the unplanned glue that kept a 45-year union together. Inconceivable amid the ill-conceived — this once happy idiot — before met by the gift of little brother. Am I a lone survivor, hobo, with a corner chair reclining in temperant housing? Shrug. Is that what I was trying to convey cryptically? Sorry. All out of shrugs. Have to bird tail these things now, give each estate a note before finding a shovel. 5.2.25 Waking from a loosely-termed 10-hour nap, rumpled and winkled. Yup, gag on it Apple. My glasses are missing, BTDubs and without…wrote without. We got her all dressed up in this ML, before saying some words before lowering in this hole, lacking editor mortician. This not contempt, nor death, since neither can exist in perpetuity. Ask a lawyer. Consult the interjecting, brainwashed AI. It was unable to attend services, too busy answering but not learning. I know eye rolls of cowardice. Share a thought with ‘class’? Loud enough so we can all learn. Where’s wisdom but taste-testing its lolly-pops, as gums rot teeth into their own decay. What could be more blissfully stupid? Plenty. Rhetorical. One-word debates aside, delusion and deluders among ignorance wax on until passersby, hesitation, then continue like old hens, as intended be. ‘It is what it is’ and nowhere near c’est la vie. “As Public As A Frog” (owned, it’s just accounts from a genealogist) A book my grandfather, I was told, reviled, and wrote one of his own that was burned post mortem in a fire (w things died) by my Catholic Aunt Mary, making my dad upset. I never learned of its contents. Grandpa is urban legend, and I’m cut from a cloth that skips a generation. It’s my nightmare too, lived. Yet, sweetly I slumber with the best visions that cure the addled head. Signed, Cereal Killer Back to the word store for Alphabets Tonight! Murder of the English language. We bring you shocking details… What? Of a world gone mad? Who refuses your pity and will make sure you know it, manipulative…?? Mmph, mmph… {In other news today… *lurks* Not cute anymore… Disclaimer— the sentiments above were acted out *bows* knowingly Defense team happy to witness for the prosecution, once Barney gets that bullet out of his pocket. Did your mother dress you? More lines rumbling, who knows? *shrug* Now, where are those glasses. |
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