Another heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused,

Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.

 

Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.

 

In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.

 

I’ve spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .

 

Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.

 

To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.

 

Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.

 

Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.

 

I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the

same

sane

 mundane

chain.

 

Heads up!

 

Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .

 

My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .

 

I tie my own tubes.

Disgraced.

I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.

 

Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.

 

Abstract,

Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.

 

Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.

 

My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.

 

I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .

 

I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.

 

How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .

 

Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .

 

It reminds me I feel.

 

I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.

 

I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.

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