My breath is a menace I'm told,
whether indoors midst vents
or outside under towers.
There is no refuge, no Prince Galahalt
to slay invisible, variating, Dragons.
Overburdened Angels of Mercy
stoically vent about those
they've lost patience with and euthanize.
I look out between blinds and see
well spaced lines of bodies in masks
under Sun's kind light who look
like variants of the Stoic Angels
knowing the tales and tailism are endless,
a terror induced enclosure without escape.
Everything is relative.
Incestuous Ontology
and Contagious Pedagogy
cultivate Propriety.
Ancestry, a Fortress perched
atop cordillera of Blackrock,
is hedged by restive waters.
Eugenics and Securities
produce a Union more Perfectly Infected.
Out of breath a new Star arises.
Always she waxes, never wanes.
Strip-mined spirit below
yields love's light above.
Hollow shafts echo
her song forever
filling chasms:
"If you're ever
in a jam
here I am."
So sunny and the bright blue above flooded everything in gold.
She was graduating and wanted to come over
for a swim and sunbathe to celebrate.
Her white bikini soaked up sunlight and my eyes as she dove in.
Her tan skin glowed like shaded pearl.
While sunning she asked me to apply
lotion to her legs and back when she turned over.
My hands explored her firm softness and rose
slowly up her legs to thighs and ascending rise
to two perfect hemispheres covered by chaste cloth.
How much I wished to tuck in that cloth and explore
those glorious hemispheres with my hands,
my head aswim in sweet sap but...
I burned pleasurably but was never burnt.
The sky of your radiant skin
is the beginning of sense...
Constellation of moles
from above lip to neck
to shoulder to breast
settling at the small
of your back
my horoscope.
A stoic Dutch captain hung himself at the helm.
The Lookout was reading an account of the assassination
of Louis, Duc D'Orléans by John the Fearless to repel
stifling heat as the river's course took them.
His soaked brow's menace aroused a targeted smack.
A mosquito's quelled and The Lookout's sucked blood
mingles with sweat dyeing his forehead blanched red.
He thought of the Duc D'Orléans' severed hand.
This branch cadet kindled flame,
nearly torching his elder's frame.
On a Divan vast as outer space
Lilies bow to the Persian Princess.
Sun's sweet gold strokes her face.
Rain shower's crystal
ornaments the
wake of her footfall.
Smell of natural gas tickles the nose...
on manured fields Sunset smelts gold.
Wendy's jet hair licks heaven's navy blue.
Her breath an occult bouquet
from carmine lips I burn to taste.
Foreign sensations flood the plain
as songbirds' notes waft mundane.
Sound of Amphitheater effect rain under awnings
moments before missiles strike the site of contagion.
Hamas-19 a virus plaguing every building
and home destroyed in the open air detention camp
blockaded by the potential victims of its pathogen.
Gentleman at the end next to Bill Gates is the Medical Sciences Chief of The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and also was the executor of Epstein's Estate. Guy on the opposite side of Epstein from Gates is Larry Summers, former Treasury Secretary of the US during Clinton administration.
The embroiderers of the golden tapestry
never let down their hair as rope
to take up seekers.
They enclose with estranged cloth
that wraps us and shines
in each ray of the Sun's
allotted fire.
The cold kiss of a tear stings flushed cheeks.
Bare bone shakes when touched by their gold.
Words turn against flesh and feast.
