Images of galactic orgies brings me to my next point.
Oh what life..-..a twisted fortified mecca of all that is
and ever shall be. Granted talents with unforgiven shields.
I write to you.
How harsh writing may be
To write by definition:
Angels flock away to be content inside
lovelost-lusted dreams of made up fantasy worlds for each realm,
The writer by definition is eternally screwed.
Poetness, poetess, poet be each his name...
dreams keeping alive, only this
drifted d e s i r e
forever slapping our worthless flames.
Alice Cooper my role model of 20 years before.
I see no hope only fear.
Each path taken leads to our inevitable tar pit,
where unison of souls sing.
And plead for Hades has ripped us,
dream casters- apart before
Each ending climaxes 2 fucking seconds before her new beginning.
Set sail on our sea...clouds grey...ocean green.
we rock...as a top inside a open container-
spinning about in search of our random ecstasies...
Each mindful tease,
To be a poet is to understand the blind raping of our universe.
Talk your mind...feel no evil.
And with this I close the thought....
For I don’t like to read.ONLY WRITE..
no no no no no no no no no...
Don’t read...procreate...it’s much more constructive,
live on, live life. Too little is never enough and too much is always
shallow inside the train which switches tracks every 5 years.
Littering our green oceans and brown grass.
"Remember to make every day Earth Day"...as the young children continue my shameless
sin against our
not so soon
becoming lonesome planet.
Rules broken by all..that is life...the poet’s life...rules broken by the few,
of all pleasures-
Again...the universe reels in humor against those few..
-few, those never shall participants of the galactic orgy.