Thursday, November 19, 2020

I No Longer Wish To Be President

I think on power or fire or vases fraught by blood. needing medicine or more depth flirting with snakebites. the chasm is my name. I am removed from my roots. I have become my obsession. by sounds we listen by sounder flame by noor we hear criminality. one will ask for allegiance. one will discount you. that one will disgrace you. such kenopsia so eerie in our compass where more must die for his ego. at the desert sits a rock. at the forest grew trees. at the house a monkey is running venom. so many idle such idiot parrots such grandfather desecration. we slipped in debates, we were camouflaged or unaware, but thoughts are mobile granddaughters. the water is for distresses by christening we arrive while the violence has become its collar. “I hold pain, I insist on silence, I have killed you to praise at my church”; such a picture, as it meant blood, many would perish for ideogramic mirage. the seas are shoreless our bones are waiting our dripping has threats by eternity. his necktie provokes me. his orange flesh says supremacy. our humanity is leaking brine. by casket by breath by balance! unto house resurrection, unto sheer destruction. “I will first destroy everything!” upon a teardrop while inflammatory has changed insomuch as, We do not control our own! 

the bells are ringing the doctor is sick, we must reschedule America. 

the scarecrow has befriended the crows the scarecrow is unfastened.

 

we have passed rumor we enter facts while continued royalty depicts weakness. by water with gin by sin with agitation by disruption without repercussion. such failing wisdom such formed reality while hands-off has become our underground. breathless abjection such disregard for America such rage for humanity. vases are fraught with blood the plague is airborne while attention to it is nonexistent. such social silt such social violence such raw desecration. such determination to overthrow Democracy. such devaluation of the American Flag while he claims America.    

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...