(Happy St. Valentines day to me, and nobody in particular, whom ever feels worthy)
Live in Aether, as though Virtue, is your food;
thy chosen boon and providence. Hover above,
forgetting your true colours fragrance. Brood
with the vipers and be as witty, while simple mood;
as a sheep, still a ravenous wolf. The ruined rod;
Machine Gun Preacher; Bulletproof monk-god.
More monkey than jaded in palaces of Arkadias Lot.
Live in the beyond, there Good and Evil cease to persist;
oblivious and voided from the moral supremacy of lesser
people, who failed to take heed of their own terms of service!
What is a man to Superman, and what do Gods do for nice;
its not for the nature of the Immortal, to care about Messer
und das Schmied, then agent Smiths Wordsmithe the Betters,
while never worse off, than bored infantile piece de hesitant!!
Hogs and Hounds building their own H&H to make all pearls
to go back whense they came, to askew Homo Sapiens, Why!
When has a moral busibody ever accompanied Zarathustra, curled
around his neck, like a tie, not to hang him somewhere; hurled
curses and passive-aggressive cuips for the attachment, muse...
Constitute in the wilderness, not in the fraternity of chosen pose;
who think Cosmopolitan, while never getting farther than Sears.
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