this low winded concert a collective reminder
discouraging embayed vying shallow Mama-Quilla
a little fickle pox is portable revelry for the one o'clock tuna
the total is a tale about lovable tapeworms and loyalty
to recognize vigil miscreants and elevate royalty.

the weathered improper cuts deals with the pristine
the rich were always supportive not listening
the tired are lazy from government siphoning
the grip on common man is tightening

the walking dead
whether in spirit or the head
they know who has no soul (black or pure)
the secrets they pretend to be told

the truth about is secrets is a false retrieval of bliss
the secret societies of yesteryear
were a teenager's pregnancy
a mother unwed and left out of view
the walking dead
whether espirit or cephalic
they know who has no soul (rigid or tight)
the secrets pretended to be told.

and now the days and night are dangerous
they bring the unwanted age of us
looking forward to infinity (radix malorum est cupitas)
a sign for turgid complacency
feeling a bit for colubrine clemency
will to our souls for vagrancy

The sibilant Pamphilus makes his cogent way to his coherent harem
and the sonant diner sets a cadastral table for oneric Galatea
the Oily Thonapa plays ochlocratic poker for his solicitous ring
the soluble worker shuffles and officious bit
we'll hike our collective hyperbole
i just hope I can get visa there
my stomach yearns for lentil soup.

the walking dead
whether in spirit or the head
they know who has no soul (black or pure)
the secrets they pretend to be told

the truth about is secrets is a false retrieval of bliss
the secret societies of yesteryear
were a teenager's pregnancy
a mother unwed and left out of view
the walking dead
whether espirit or cephalic
they know who has no soul (rigid or tight)
the secrets pretended to be told

the chocolate hawks consumptive fall regressed
brackish doves tortuous loss affect
the versicolor starling tranquility draws election
black pitch phoenix versimo triumphs connecting
virgin white tern gracious building into succession
herculean birds sentry the occupational day
while preying the laborer
tiny allurement later forms a corridor
synonymous in a protruding ray from the sky
a funeral procession's indecision
burns a whole in our chests
phoenix and virgins seek dispersion
in allurements tranquil song
all hawks arbitrate doves in court
movie starlings protest everything
all the birds censor themselves for career
the pall bears our lovers and bosses
our leaders our enemy's best friends

but to apologize

I sat on the front porch
to watched the messianic rain
stink up the air with blithe ozone
instead of waiting like a good boy
i walked to the pier
remember? we walked up on mayfair
to the phone booth paradise
remember? we walked up on mayfair
after washing the penthouse for courtship
heather and tom predestined those virtues
It was as harmless as friend ice cream
the streets awash with bevels
my own dust gone
I watched the rain leave the harbor
I prayed for waterspouts
the storm left a broken dream
created during a decade
the carpenter with his level
mixed the whip cream
he strains every freedom he slays
every beam of truth will
finagle a baltimore bream
DC has more visuals
than a television scream
it's salty and it's passion
the whisker wilted
savoring lusty felt
we'll go out in the spring solstice
gun spring pole trains
while folding
a notice of wait
low and failing
but what doesn't wean
on hail or snow
and saying so
despite all the vitals
hear the willow prim?
yeed follows on the whim?
true shelter in the forest of dim?
Man forges a forest for him
lend lightly soldier
lend on hand on
rubber top pen i'm her
be ill clean done
all burr fooled ya morrie
a doll fit lure
shun pole sought her
stay fin (hah king)
nail cay mint

the walking dead
whether in spirit or the head
they know who has no soul (black or pure)
the secrets they pretend to be told

the truth about is secrets is a false retrieval of bliss
the secret societies of yesteryear
were a teenager's pregnancy
a mother unwed and left out of view
the walking dead
whether espirit or cephalic
they know who has no soul (rigid or tight)
the secrets pretended to be told

to send the children to college
it's important to be full of ivy
guggenheims and Fulbright's
don't let the kids be limelight
for retirement and bettered men
for Agamemnon
counts on you
and raped swans shit is a hot commodity
to trade for 200 year old freedoms.
those old idea on paper worth
a song a or two unless the won't hit
when the kids leave their alma mater
may they be successful laborers
logic and the iliad is good for bricklaying
so the bricklayer buys a house
the turning point in a career to cherish
the bricklayer makes offspring from sweat and semen
the house for a another future another time
the world set aside for the children
kindergarten leads to dissertations in studies
today's copernicus operates a forklift for NASA
tomorrows plato sings coffeehouse songs badly

the walking dead
whether in spirit or the head
they know who has no soul (black or pure)
the secrets they pretend to be told

the truth about is secrets is a false retrieval of bliss
the secret societies of yesteryear
were a teenager's pregnancy
a mother unwed and left out of view
the walking dead
whether espirit or cephalic
they know who has no soul (rigid or tight)
the secrets pretended to be told
the truth about is secrets is a false retrieve bliss
the secret societies of yesteryear
were a teenager's pregnancy
a mother unwed and left out of view
the walking dead
whether espirit or cephalic
they know who has no soul (rigid or tight)
the secrets pretended to be told.


A wreath of laurel encompasses the family home
I think of one celebration
of the possibility
When intellectual oligarchies
made us self evident
When individuality was a joke
For temptation

Now we used to beat a toss to pass time
now a toss is a severance package
the real world invented
so irony is thickets of life hitting our bloodstream

A wreath of laurel encompasses the family home
I think of one celebration
of the possibility
When intellectual oligarchies
made us self evident
When individuality was a joke
For temptation

Latin used to be a hispanic gang
phlebotomus was an insect
today we have professor friends
with degrees in Gallic wars and Pooh


A wreath of laurel encompasses the family home
I think of one celebration
of the possibility
When intellectual oligarchies
made us self evident
When individuality was a joke
For temptation

If it were all cliche then time
would be vanity an excuse for remembrance
a prelude of sanity eschew the timetable
markers on all elevation trade declination
for a president campaign bill
hold out for temptation.

A wreath of laurel encompasses the family home
I think of one celebration
of the possibility
When intellectual oligarchies
made us self evident
When individuality was a joke

For temptation
the weathered's forecast is prophecy
the profits mined downtown
if it can be left it's best
to just settle down.

The mason went to the market to shop
be glad you're fucking people over
he felt it was in vain
be glad you're fucking people over
the people bought without reservation
be glad you're fucking people over
all the carts looked the same
be glad you're fucking people over
be glad you're fucking people over

The cement is gold for industry's placated alchemy
stone borders he worker Shangri-La
the mason PHD remembers Pangloss
he finds bricks in the garden to pull
the bulbs only produce granite these days

the apartment haven't change much either
be glad you're fucking people over
livelihood at a bronx roar con
be glad you're fucking people over
the trust in leaders of conformity
be glad you're fucking people over
time wasted for the precocious
be glad you're fucking people over
be glad you're fucking people over
magma roots produce Llullaillacan striptease
the volcanic grit replaced by refinery
smog is a newer addiction; Copacti coughs
Exhaust a wine feeding a shadow demon of concrete span
wrapped in a burrito of aluminum tin and steel

eternal PTA's and soccer mothery
be glad you're fucking people over
the trust in luxury vans and trucks
be glad you're fucking people over
white kids who dig black music
be glad you're fucking people over
often don't understand black music
be glad you're fucking people over
be glad you're fucking people over

on the outside mothers raise their kids in stucco
the police keep out the brown and black unwanted
locks keep their angry disillusion in their homes
asphalt bakes rubber tires for commute consumption
in ground pools recreate security for sons

he goes where the forests disappear
be glad you're fucking people over
there isn't a trace of game
be glad you're fucking people over
good thing the businessmen developed it
be glad you're fucking people over
after all without laws against choice who cares
be glad you're fucking people over
be glad you're fucking people over

the tractor drives away to it's founders home
a cowboy in it's seat rounds up the livestock
upon gravel lanes a man makes his meal
half the rent from power lines to feed vulcan
cutting through the sour corn odor

heavy lord praising calms the masses
be glad you're fucking people over
they preach about how love hates
be glad you're fucking people over
they preach about jesus hates peace
be glad you're fucking people over
they preach about a god who is vengeful
be glad you're fucking people over
be glad you're fucking people over
be glad you're fucking people over
be glad you're fucking people over

leading to the churches who provide
Pastors look up to sol for venus
luna grants game in the forests
only for virgos in the barns and woods
the rest to the silos in human Oort clouds

If you [Log In] as a member you can discuss this work with others