Hell, thy ancient fury red.
Blue the bloody bright.
Death and Doom, holy is dread.
Deprived: foe of sight.
Eyes unneeded, pop in skull!
Lips fall from the face!
Clean death, are you due a trull?
Heaven, where is grace?
Immortal insectile file.
Two by two in ranks.
Well, think on this one a while:
When to call the tanks?
Singularity, thy grin.
Full, O rubbish bin?
Hope, thy budget's looking thin!
Pin to help us win!
Anyway, thy question.
O voices of the past:
Stay at post? Suggestion:
Just hang them all, O mast.
Who listens to counsel sage?
Asked: levels of rage?
Rusty are the bars, my cage?
Victims of the age!
Golden, glorious, gibbous.
Night, thy fading glow.
Bright the bane, bore, blunderbuss?
Shows what fools all know!
Call them in most anytime!
Greatest war, break out.
Countenancing, O cold crime?
Death is but a shout!
eclipse an errant eon
inhale discordant ions
exhale insectile icons
disarm misfiring memes
take umbrage under a titanic umbrella
recede from seething red-holes in sinkholes
just so you know…
Helga and Zohar orbit the Moon
a harsh mistress giggles indifferently
a cold cosmos says nothing
you are (not) what you think (you are)
forbid fallacious words
forget wordy fallacies
forgo fatuous wormholes
FYI, it’s Awesome
FWIW, it's Perfect
TBH, it’s FUBAR
given a double whammy
they wanted to double down
on double talk
in the
torrid gust
the summer solstice
its sundry insectile eyes
seething with sultry scorn
in this weather channeled
source of telegenic storms
seasonal shifts are
lost in translation
poisoned neural flowers
the root of
rotting neurosis
the Earth becomes
Venusian
profoundly tragic
hypersonic horses
fly out of the digital barn
they sail over the
northern hemisphere
firing blinding arrows
into the dead brains
The Tropic of Cancer
and Capricorn
relax in the tropics
the Sun lords it
over the equator
precession calmly proceeds
(23.44° is the Magic Number)
all is well
in the best of all
possible
flatlands
==================================
The widow, dressed in glossy black,
glides from the shadows at the back.
A veil lies slack across her face
to mask the grief her features lack.
Possessed of an insectile grace,
she sidles to the open case
and like the reptile smile she bares,
this too, serves to defile the place.
Since jealousy insures she cares
less for his death than for her shares,
obsession next finds her engrossed
in leaving with the gold he wears.
A parasite, she'll man her post
and feed from this depleted host
'til she believes she's bled the most
she can from his departed ghost.
==========================
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