Do not produce children
telepathic hypochondriac...
don't transform girls
in symptomatic blind
don't do women
changed functions
think of the wounds
Like splenic roses
But oh don't forget
the rose of the rose
From the rose of Hiroshima
the perpetual rose
the radioactive rose
monstrous and stupid
The hepatic rose with cirrhosis
The anti rose, atomic
discolored and unperfumed
Sans rose sans nothing... !
PS Interactive reinterpretation of the poem Rosa de Hiroshima from Vinicius
de Morais, Brazilian poet BY Alkas poetry
Lava stiletto lips
drips Medusa kisses
transmitting stone corpse aperitifs
she slithetrs hither on
out of night sways of
narcoleptic nuptial napkins
snake strand locks of love
conceal couquettic tenderizing
fetish fantasies of climactic
carnivorous copulations.
Leviathan legs of boa bondage
clench my every clandestine thrunch.
Gonad groundswells of deep droning
desires-immersive of Eden's ego, forgo
an all atoned, permissable persuasions,
passions primitive, albeit death defying
defamations. I thus conclude a deciduous
daunting demise driven by perennial postulates
and hormonal harassed hecticals capturing
coital consequences, feverently focused,
freely formed frailties, neatly nestled,
innately interred, individually invested
by human happenstance helpings of
hepatic herbs of mythological memories
measured in manmade miniature statuettes
cold carved into rejuvenating relics
of our own Rock of Ages intent.
Hypochondrial Delusion
A mind corrupted canker
Of cystic self failure
Even gastric anorexia
And fluttery throb to alight the fear
An adrenaline generated tachycardia
That matches respiration
And causes hyperventilation
With invasive pacy rhythm
And palpitating violation
To anxious infarction
In schizoid arrest
A hepatic paranoia
of dermal yellow
And lily liver assault
That feeds a life non start
Of malignant low self esteem
A delusional malaise
Of apoplectic panic
And stressful apoplexy
A localized dorsal twinge
To further worry
Lumbar or thoracic or
Renal calculi or a case of
Bulimic nausea and peptic ulcer
To stoke the festering psyche
Of somatic obsession
Embolic anguish that leads to
A hypertensive strain
With muscular tremor and distorted vision
And a full blown occulogyric crisis
Ensued by catatonia
Comatosed by
Psychotic breakdown and
Inactive body systems
A perusal of the medical book
Confirms the diagnosis of
Life threatening
Hypochondria
No rainbows to ride, no dreams to chase.
No songs in his heart, no love in his soul.
Lost in a future without an end.
without purpose, care or a friend.
An aimless heart, a lonely soul, unwilling
to reach or start, unwilling to pay the toll.
Passion restrained in avoidance of pain.
No cause to fight, no blood to stain.
No love to find, no love to lose.
No questions to ask, no reasons to choose.
Feelings felt with no glory, in a second-hand way,
through his digital story.
Will he ever feel anything, will he ever touch anyone.
Will he risk the sting, will he stop the run.
His life felled with lonely dreams,
of beautiful brave scenes,
seen not by you nor by me
the only he knows hepatic.
Feelings felt without glory
or passion in that second-hand way.
If he could only see his own sad and empty story.
Professor Paddock of virology was a stocky man
He observed a little beetle on the skirt of Messy Anne
He took out his double DNA space probe
Focused it on Anne's hepatic lobe
And leapt out of the window without any thoughtful game plan
Living in the twilight of yesterday
Wistfully longing for a return
To reap the glory I once shared
For a destiny's child I was born
Then I grew up to be a king
Then on my throne I would sing
When I was the king
I thought of heavenly things
I visited the moon and resided in mars
Sailed the ocean with paddlers wings
Fought many battles, won many wars
On a white horse I would ride
Even got baptized in the river Nile
When I was king
When I was King
The bells would toll
What great tidings that would bring?
All would gather, young and old
To pay homage to their king
On char grilled venison they would feast
And drink the nectar of the brewers yeast
When I was king
When I was king
My queen would reign
In glorious harmony with the king
Just like the liver's hepatic veins
In tuneful melodies we would sing
And I in gleeful wedded bliss
Showered her with love,sealed with a kiss
When I was king
Now I am old and my reign is done
I recline in the glory of yesteryears
I reminisce of my past years gone
And patiently await the grim reaper's shears
While I bask in the happiness , the joys I sing
The memories, the times. when I was king.