Thermite

Warmer than the oven, hotter than the sun, jumping shotgun shouts, like dodging angry spiffy bullets. The might and magic of what might have been tragic to happen on psychic stages at a flick of thinger or some change of coin or growing up in my groin... Lament on the static fragil vigil when the would be saints are in for the looter ant paint it all black for the edgy corner got loitered again. White faces say nothing rough around the red lined smudges, as a hickup high-jacked a road to hit a Jack Daniels up and stack in the atic. Extatic my Ebenezer in his attic. Adicted into his dictionary aflicted into latin death sentences more prolific than a fishermen can bate and entomb into the chimney alumning for stewarding in the stand-up comedy of your own life. Christmas was postponed as the skeletons in the closet lost their marrow, used to poison and scarecrow Jack Sparrow and I was having a wishing boner up my throat, eating all the chickens I could get - well I like a life on the edge as I pledge to use a sledge hammer as a monkey-wrench to kick out the stench of gloomy straight and serious notions what got no funny bone to gnaw on. If Christ was a sprout of us, He would proclaim thus and have it pattented in ToysRus while letting coffins shoot wines at Rus - Walrus was here to disgus the gushing sound of blood rushing into the lush garden as I sprayed my veins for the rush hour to implant my will to green thumbed crosshairs and reach out for the mush. Gentle feelings and obsessing on emotions are better off than sound and strict rules and engagement gaging and gagging in the babbling infringed spacement. The base I meant with this tension to spend a minute thought foreclosure beholding on the killing spree. Sprites and fairy bottles been sold by the bushle to bleach away all thought of afterlife or responce - virility more important than impotence of seeing importance to mind cause and effect connecting the dots to a port dance in ones glance. Let the thermite burn and reign in our souls; as we sip from our ill begotten inheritant bowls to thunderdome and await a Mad Max to Kill Bill all Hattory Hanzo swordplayers who lost their tracks. Fishbones to comb my hair, as some hairy close shaves gave me a hard scare, to let the drowned cat out of the bag and piggyback it in the catacombs and lost tombs of forsaken figure skaters, who tried to guzzle and bedazzle all salty tears what the sea of regret may upset and net into their sullen wombs. Knit picking the pockets of toetagged rugrats, who had a stag of Apogee in the paradigm to trade three quarter for a dime - parlez vous abstain? To profit for the meek, as our own hopes and needs are slain. Stain the thought train for naughty reek - entrails in haughty remains, as the masters of submission sub thumbs up for the ortodoxxed rabid foot in our mouth for the shame. Gross my thingers and Tony Blair to trial the sandwich with Mayonaise and reconnaissance to influence the essence of making no sence, burning all which idols and critiques as sculls cross the pikes and in the trench. Slapping some donkey heads to loose the hench hence tying the nice try into a bow or a fly what was compelling enough to partake a spelling bee and be misspelled and understood to stand down the ceiling, yielding some concrete evisacrated silver linings and biddings of Godspeedy gossamers tiding up the balcony while catchin up with the audience. The recovery revolted a resort of revolving madness and discorded ordeals to be recorded on the derbis of guidance into abundant color-blindness to mind-miss what the point hissed to kiss the iron maiden and see the devil in every bliss...

Worced shit

Reinforced steel driving a cart of wheels on high heels is how I feel about the 1D real's who couldn't even blacebo their own realms but had a stolen dream-3. Making a post to shit on people above their grade, maybe a king may pose as a pope transposing some lean fats on a nosedive with no hose. Enforcing the Real News on some dull papers, to be re-used and amusedly I read in the toilet, to let my toys suppose shit on me, while I'm eating it up between the roses and some pork-roast and be post-freed to speech speedy stoners seeds: "Sex sells";  "On seashells Afrodite some oil sells"; "Sussex Wisconsin or England" while suing tacobells for the rhyme and grils, in my first wills I would chill with Bruce Willis to die hardcore and mill wars on battlescars of broken jars of clay, straight out of jackets. But, not the white's or blacks - just some remote farce. Cracking the code to wise up and toughen my lip, still no-clipping mode on my peace of tape, as some mis-takes of baker's cake re-ducted, sold a hot flake! Worced shit is always up, but nice words are scarce, to lit a worship for the sake of it and not for the grains of salts - Hale Mary may do it or put on some De Vit. Ass-salting some stealth swats to nail the flies that never got Icarus nor Bond to toss... French frogs in my pond there drinking sake to state it: "Brawls are for sub-marines sinking like titanic and not for the Seals." Dupe mashines do duke it out on leisure with glee - Plotters ain't no Potter to let it rip, even their bay-pal days robo-drippings are loosing the grip to some dark moves boo-jutsu and the chip on the shoulder to a drive-in Moose, who forgat to bring along a whip. Shooting from the hip some sturdy rhymes bending reality and concubines, binary alternate genomes and signs to aliby the orifice what resigned under the pain of scathe. No better abyss than the plot-hole to scour the doug for broken glasses and a flat sun on a dime cord dial-in stuttering in cordial carnal sin of having a vile grin about being famous - just to the math. Insulting matters - if I just could fastest gun Nobody and have a karaoke sing on my singed feet while barfing into the garbage bin and washing up tooth for a selfie on a whim pin heading my dim light behind the counter. Charley Brown was to be crit. hit on Futurama while playing Bender, preserving the servatives of multitudes to opt and construde the interlude nobody wanted to grime and blues. Globetrotters in the red book communisting the misconception intersepting my sepsis to another intersection out of reach and beyond the fourth wall what was cumming some paint dried on picket fence off-hand sat on to rent: "Can ser Jon know something before he fell into the snow?" Some fell creatures pose features what turn the other cheek of 'but' and Chop Socky Chooks in the mall against Wasabi roasted a Fish, spoiling the dish. I wonder why spice girls didn't have a diss? Preaching some premature textures to meditate on the gravity of nature, when you let your future drown the drain while posing like you're Alice in Chains seesawing Carnival of Rust, while dusk to dust tears are sowing their owns reapers of retards reappearing rewards - the island of lost afairs comdot bust. The vultures are closing in on the carrion when blood their sent repeaters on the hour of lent to offer a peace of meat from the chest what is not theirs to be Ishmael nor Caleb - at best the bad copy of Harvey Dent cosplaying as Saturday. But the show is a bitch and on she goes it's a must art to mustard my a la cart stalwart guard infusing dong keys with zen feels to meditate on the grim and ripe to be rated. Of ill fate is to hope for a happy ending what has already ended on a bumper somewhere else to mate a checkmark and a better rate for dope lines and a fistbump solemnly great. High five-blue skies; roses are red but that shit aint mine; lullabies mockingbirds lulled bias, gullable miasm outpaced for BS; tracing the franchise disguise pervasive and unwise oxy-moroning the borrowing Morrowing of harrowing broken arrowing of second Travoltas and third Slaters on a brass poker plater to be wrecked and reconciled into laters, as soon as the right fairy gives a pumpkin for your midnight gathering to wingman the last sting op of bling first and then the dope slang be the blind pin-king. At a blink of an eye, the hand is faster than the good-bye to shell-game some shocks to stock out wallmart on a fire-sale and put your free slots on the mashine promising getting high is the best life school to be in... Out of scale are the crows that rap on the door of Heaven while flirting with Hellbent needs and ordeals, nobody asked em to mean business. The Creel is there to catch the fallen head as the tails fall behind their legs and the lie gets inspected. Sublime is to sub lime for the glue and rhyme like a prisoner doing hard time confessed to be innocent til the last drop of ink in his pen and eager ears could listen to and abide. Actions speak volumes than tall words, a check what bounces is not the same as Shakespeares sword, furthermore the be heard and not be hearded into a flock and sirred up for a stirring slur the blur is always more closer than the answer to your cur... Few may curfew through the honeydew to find a cure on the estanrge and obscure, courting up for a martial who is not like a white martian for some Teens who masquerade while Digimooning Rashomon and Bill Gates - references crossed paths dueling out for the green. What could it possibly mean?

Cherry-pickaxe

Cherry-pickers can't be lock-smiths
words go merry around and flurry the sky.
My expression is blurry from espresso
cola and lime under my cherry tree grifts.


Choose your poison, as in poised noise
the illiterate have a invoice to avoid a choice.
The minority reported a prank call of a barrelroll.
The cinnamons trolled some enrollment promball.


Militarized the offended rending fenses to pickeled treats;
I would great you some farewells to tell a tail on your wish.
The well was poisoned and didn't cave in the least.
Steadfast was the demise as destined by the precursor of fame.


How many trolls does it take to change the dark bulb;
to light up the brains that go brawn and mayham...
Being vulgar, both intimate and most annoying - wont budge;
the enemies deserve no mercy but what do friends get fam?


Expose the cleric - intricate rumors start spreading their legs like
a bitch on a pimp. No-one wants to change the rules while winning;
whining on the boosters given to loosers, the devil also grinning.
For the mirror both growling hound and image look alike...


I pick my cherries under the cabbage leaf as the storck nests;
the cases are empty and make no sense to release the maison.
No body is laid to rest, some burried dogs even put to the test:
Waterboarded and sundried like tomatoes or sour graped raisin...


Carry on to the rainbow pity party: "They gonna laugh at thou!"
We are one, solidarity trumps Solitaire while indicting the dice;
as one stabs his enemy own backs bled dry and stout;
finding the splinter in the neighbours brain-cell while anvilled with vice!


Who's bastion has a high horse and who has a donkey as a king;
asses are flying around, some are handed on a silver poker.
Who is the kingpin and the supreme lord of your smugling ring
the drones shall shoot the game - who shall be the broker?


In the light of justice and truth, who's ruler shall rub it in;
as the sin fades away, tucked under an umbrella and a carpet.
It was streaming with white paint, dripping down the lane.
My cane I fetched from a blind man duped me vicious and domain...


In sane thoughts there are so many loittered connotions to lottery
the collusion between obscene and devotion. I motion to evoke
a potion to have carrions godspeed to Jersey while rehersing California
smack New York to hearsay - I heard it been prayed around a laughing stock exchange.

Violence and violines

Violence and violines got past my lence;
as I hit pretence on its sixth sense.
The past is immence and it made no incence
to innosence the licence of 5 cents
I found behind my couch -
crouching and goughing to coach
the tiger, howering like  the spirit of God
over the rainbow shooting bolts of laughter...


Inside some shooting stars pressed the space bar
and hashtagged some gagged nerves in the grasslands
as my mind went flat and twerked the meaning, which
was on the straight and narrow and a flush in my rubberband.
Yours truly as I slay verily the verity and integrity
as saints and sinners go down just the same merrily.
Alas, the glee: to have some retard rewards envisioned
in the full house of cards. Why only sense can commonly seem something.


I was seeing something and it was fucking my brains out.
Maybe it was bullshit or some ballony, what ever would Murphy say.
Butterflies there dancing on my tea as I added some milk;
the silk flavour of meaning nothing had a smalltalk
as some derailed notions came past to haunt which cut me some slack...
Imminently bridging between the captive audience of immolation
and infatile cancerous gnawing of chewing bones
but my gums there soft and bloody while the tooth there too nice to hold back


I could take it back and violate some other chords of memory banks
but regrets have seldom made good table manners. Some violet lines
there crossed and replaced with magenta to augument the diversity
of having nothing to say while still saying it all. If people liberate themselves mores
there would be no difference between Free Willy and God
A wet Willy would be also an option to wedgy the stern expressions
back to the drawingboard of boredom and gawking at the drypainted fascade.
I overheard that the herd wanted to be the sheppard but without violines and violence