February 22, 2007

feasible crumbs

hideous, deformed
the sapid gargoyle awash in karmic rebounds
waits on hand and toe
for feasible crumbs dropped by unworthy foes,
their only claim to remembrance
a shout heard down tripish corridors of phlegm

what does this monster want?
out of life?
out of communion?
....out of paper

to lead the rummage
cross fields of sarcasm
the downed warriors stripped of acumen,
the armor rusted and mocked,
astringent and bitter animosity
dragged out to the sea of wit

to head the march
o'er meadows of floundering dross,
and heard above the flocks of imbecilic ruminators
bred for endurance, a repetitive lunacy
not felt or imagined
by their cliched sensibilities

to commandeer
the armies of unfeeling and self abstracted
carbon eaters
their digestive tracts lined with leftover drool
ripe with embryonic concepts,
their flight of preoccupied residue
slimy with extravagance

to cede....
wraught with extinction
embraced by deities revolving round
the fenced-in solarium of pedestrian prate,
entrails of padded insight hither and where
to shine is to retreat....and to rule

fuga battalia

wandering the fugue
wrung out chimeras of battles,
arguments and bogus assessments abound

here a vitriolic sputter,
a rant on the inaneness of opinion

there a strutting of quirky ego
gone rancid with grief

and the always exceptional
boxed, caged, and inviolate hyena,
biting at it's own tail
to free itself from karma's orbit

over there passes a shining torch
twinkling in the quagmire's dusk,
don't touch it......
don't you dare get close
the burn is equivalent
to a supernova's implosion

fetid pups run amock
nipping and gnawing at curdled heels
just trying to give credence
to an inattentive guardian,
too intent on self digestion
to render civility

and those hounds of appetite are loose,
hide your sullied tidings....
if you don't want your belongings
unraveled and smeared across vale and tuck
run! run to the nearest exit

the advent of kala in all her splendor
strifing these murky halls,
on the look out for fallen psuedotants
chained to the temple of bleeding persona,
their wranglings and moans
compulsive fodder for the hungry harpy

over there, what the fuck is that?!
six legs, wings, a snout....

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