They may come and go says Samael, so sayeth the wiccan prince who some say too ushers in hell, but hell is reserved for the iniquitous and the evil, where tortured until they are ash, is the only white steeple, the comely few who verily detest when mothball mouths are not cottonmouth bassets the silly strummed up wheat, which pervades the day when the heat is nigh on noon complete, the southern seer, grampy to some, has black boys and girls this Samael sung.
Semi-longed-about tales that rip apart the holiest grails, and shower the besmirched with real gold who knows how much silver is with that gold! A coppery patina is all over the copper plates they are dated Egyptian and seen much waste, yet why do you not ask the river bend? When friends are coming and money spent? Does the sleek shimmer in the night, conjure ghosts which oft delight? Does the sun upon daybreak curse the puppy small the meals disbursed? The river aims not true north as the north star plays on lyres striking lightening bolts on open paidby waitlocks on other staves.
The missing letters are feared lost better calls shrieked into the mossy night where hovering the moon delights, in wolfish cries and another bursts the devil called and answered Ms. Hearst so while the nighttime day's mirror... cries are heard! They said that amber was a rock no more, for if serendipitously defined then hulking over the river is the divestment of the vines, but modern day America hasn't won the currency war, the Euro has it's place ensured, and though we wile through rows of corn our hearts aflutter as others mourn, be crisp beneath that blotted out apple tree, the asylum loves apple juice for free.
Against those throes of untimely demises that Hormel chili should usher in surprises, or so the weapon goes to the kiln where kilts affray melt ire still, but beside the moon, that heavenly crest shan't ring new tones, the silent rest, whereupon one green stamp made this here, reap and commala like times past my dear, where one thing never finds Ms. Garland and another may leave her, is it simply constructed or beaten and beleaguered? I beat the metal hot and strong, but saintly serpents proved them wrong, the energies aglow like fires unkempt, the hearth and mantel heavens lent them and showered the earthly with cures galore a poor poet's boy, Aurora's demure.
Once he had one he wanted to constrict it, like a boa; a python, to hold closely guarded the thing for which demure closets stay closed like iron-waitresses pervading the hostel with lime-light the lemony-snickett cackling in the born-and-bred flames, curling irons prod the paper-clip open but the stamp endures, a timid interred girl beghosts the earls. The favorite simple plan, favored in heavens gamma, where brightness surely waits in pavilion the concert. My concerto is made-man italian, the devise impregnated, like hollow bells that sour, the grim sugar from said waitress, we wildly call the crows to set and chime on the lines where workmen craft blue ribbons atop the farmland graves.
Decoded like a file-Yet still Unclassified
A group tried to scan your soul like a
Barcode file,
Pondering they had access, thought they
Had style-
But one's truth ain't a doc you compile,
You remain encrypted, laughing all the
While.
Betrayal tried to breach you, sneak in,
Eavesdropping, but resilence hit back a
System icon.
You reboot clean, move sharp, stay gone,
Too many layers for for their read only con.
They wanted cliff notes, cheat codes, a
Quick profile, But you're firewalled spirit-
With a street- born smile.
Your whole lifestyle,
Rising every-time like a comeback file.
Dozens of hands have lifted me
the registrar who pressed too hard,
the counsel rifling always for the paragraph that might save someone.
But I remember one above all others.
Not the presiding officer's
that hand held me the way a man holds what he has already decided.
I mean the petitioner's hands.
Dry from travel.
A callus on the right thumb from work I have no name for.
She held me at the corner, not the spine
as if she knew she was not entitled to my centre.
When she set me down before the bench,
I felt the precise weight of her hope: not large, not small
the weight of one who no longer expects rescue
but asks only that the world note what happened, and when.
I am not judging.
I am the file.
I remember everything the verdict did not.
My finger prints are on file because I used to teach
Repercussions might have a long-term unknown reach
I had no choice, it was the thing I had to do
In order to stay employed, I ask you, wouldn’t you?
Sunday dinner is a time for family gathering
Enjoying conversation and home-cooked food
At the home of matriarch or patriarch of the clan,
Feasting on gumbo is a tradition for our brood
Oysters, shrimp, blue crab from Lake Pontchartrain
Onion, bell pepper and celery ~ Trinity of seasoning
Dark caramel color of roux though stirring is a pain
File' powder is made from ground sassafras leaves
It's used to thicken to a consistency that is nice
Leaving it out is a sin in the world of Creole cuisine
E'ach ladle of seafood's bounty is served with rice
Grateful to the cook for the effort to please our taste
Using the right ingredients brings smiles to the table
Makes us a happy family when nothing goes to waste
Broth of gumbo is a local favorite in New Orleans
Offensive not to have another bowl if you're able
GUESS WHAT COMES TODAY
THE EPSTEIN FILES SO THEY SAY
TRUMP TRIED TO DELAY
THE GANG IS ALL HERE
JEFFREY HAD FRIENDS FAR AND NEAR
EXPOSURE BRINGS FEAR
As a non insertive question
Citizen has single federal file for all personnel.
Objective of research is objective
During description in file
As sealed Indictment within government as possession of journalist record is economy.
Obstruction is escalation of budget into file
Over life of citizen, depriving citizen of liberty.
I am a research journalist.
In poverty I research not creating poverty
This is to learn what you and all can't do
Can I be exonerated
For the crimes I never commited?
There’s no one to ask, I’m afraid
Which doesn’t make me uplifted
And its nowhere to go, I’m unseen
Cause my passport is shining too bright
Unwelcomed, I see the screen
But never I saw the light,
Of that special hour, before the evening
Covers your land, my reader
No rest for the wicked, believe me
Wicked isn’t me, but a leader
Of lemmings with human faces
Though I don’t belong to that file
I never cared for rat races
But for you I’m of common pile
Concerning about your peace
You cannot see what you’re not shown
It’s not an eyesight disease
But a mental thing, still unknown.
What you’ve bothered to pick
Is a heartbreak topic:
The mind Ended Love warps
And on one’s folly harps;
Just as heat could man burst
Still, Heartbreak Is the worst…
Men file in, bed defile,
You’re with an office file.
Joan does not claim it’s right
But expects not a fight.
You’d delayed wedding ring;
So, with Guys face The Ring…
You’d never known women!
I’ve not ruled them “vermin’’.
Let nothing be of deal
Let anything be ideal
If everything can't be heal
It definitely lacks gracious zeal
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