A white baron dumped
On open ground. Cruising on
Meds. The Vicar, winner take
All. Stretching rivers. Look
After yourself. Ring master —
Turn the phrase. Barn
Full of bones. Keep
In touch! An indefinitely ongoing
Situation.
Fight. Strangle. Shoot.
Current revolving truth:
Full stop. This is a
Loser’s fate. Piecing
It together. Fully clothed — never deny death.
You’ve got a smile, haven’t you.
The White Baron
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Filed under: Poetry Poetry
The Eye and The Widow — An Ode To Zuhayr Bin Abi Salma
Security or ashlar — did not say. Non-yielding pheasants figural the house as if it affianced regularization. Wrist tattoo. The eye and the widows walk anorexia. The mandril rise from each model — stood out from the argument after twenty. Pelaiah knew the house just after the defacer of cartage: Demons in the caldron and pelvic septets not alewives. I knew when I said to house: “A quarter of but, good morning!” — Quarter and gave insight — Khalili, do you believe Zain? The thrombus endures over him. Molder on the right hand and — sadness. How Balguenan a shop!, and it is pro-hi-bi-ted. Alas, modes of manumission and the whole rad footnotes of McAkep bled. The coprolite of Charon — Ya’alon all aboard! This indicated soft arras. Reel destructibility and Aztlan magicians they: The kind of Wadi al-Rass, Khalid of the mouth — the deeds of the bird and the nightclub landscape: An elegantly eye — beholder of calumniation. The gestures wool in every home. Zin El’Fna — love did not break. So, when the sleeve of water trollied the erector and delivered sticks as presents to your hearthstone, the woman responded by re-sowing, then she met me on all polished white, who toured Around the sons of men and takes them — Right, yes, right, — after all, all of shield and contract conceal Absa and Thibyan; a dedication to themselves, beating perfume — known to say what we recognize. Enemy behind with the devil or lion — display no bidders.
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Filed under: Fusion
I Can Kill You And Then You’ll Die
I can kill you, and then you’ll die. I can take you wherever you want to go. I am waiting to see. I am outside your window. I am the dither and the reluctant. I am the atmosphere, the knickknacks, the brass knuckles. I am something for them: Churches, volunteers, cigarettes and handouts. I am something standing by anything; shiny and metallic. I have sold employees, I have stolen customers. I am swarms of them no matter how — I am the stumble on the curb, the nap in the middle of the road. I am the ragged front, the old coat staring inside its face. I am well aware of the shock of being an American. I am talked about, in phases. Thrown back to classic foods and out of sight. I am the plate-glass street: A heat wave of cold spells. I established 1948 right after 1947. I worked for decades long enough to view suspicion in the locals and flocked-to-areas. I trimmed midnight. I have a longstanding policy: 24 hours till closing. I am nearly all of them at some point. I am pulling a fast one. I am its look, its lock, its scowl. I am its spit in an Appalachian accent. I am that Bible study, culture of clutter; they can’t win. I bar barren fields in every direction. I crumble little houses, empty and quiet. I am a fling of long-term relationship. I can do delays. I can wait for disputes. I give way to stuck deals, to river projects, to limbo. I afford no resident. I shed water. I rage on and on. I can keep away and take a lot less. I finish your drinks. I can kill you. And then you’ll die.
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Filed under: Deletion Poem
Rare Earths – A Handbook
This work, made for personal use is allowed and made available through global rights, i.e., obtaining permission — wishing to derive tables of contents for internal circulations, circumambulations and — all responsibility is assumed by user negligence, or rapid advances in particular independent diagnoses. § First Edition § Marc Manley Cryogenic Laboratory, Faculty of Rare Earths National University of Ganymede Hectar 334, Lakhmu Fossae, Ganymede, Jupiter. Rare earths — a well-known phenomenon, a coupling which exhibits dimensional Changes, is subject to magnetic attraction — both canine and terran. Max wattage: Three joules. Perfectly safe and within intra-galactic travel requirements. Sensors, actuators, force controllers. All of potential interest to the rapid growth of microsystems: meshing materials of thin-filmed giants of Io and soft magnetic properties of lichen. Such conglomerates are not without their iron and landslides. For further details, see A.E. Clark’s Mercurial Ordnance of Surface Warfare Conduct. Now. Informatics provide the mental provisions to grasp the effects that magnetostrictive Rare-Earth compounds have on low-orbit metals. The best way to comprehend this is to devote oneself to lanthanide monasticism. Further, lower the self to achieve states of attempts and summaries. Room for elasticity should be accommodated in order to foster such electrostatic interactions between muscles and clay. Detailed instructions: A.E. Clark’s Magna-Dimensional Form-Effect Minimization, Appendix 106. Strong orbitals are the result of, not only crystal deformations, but also by the ob-scenery of obscure compost: a macrocosm of fig shells and low-temperature plant life. This is not to imply that the June sun in Halicus is insufficient to provide observationals — saturated rays express a direct axis of isotopic volume and vexed rabbits, who move swiftly between the canyons of Hah — conceiving dreams of again and again. Looking out from Mt. Kulla Observatory, rare earths are brought close to the eye. Such teleoscopic amplitudes decrease imaginations concomitantly with sub-spectral analysis, until loam and gravel vanish. Did you expect it to stay forever? Lower values of down tilting gradually shift 90°— an impressive case of demonstrating how the interplay of marl and till, how it wakes — In Gir or in Abylos, full of new arrangements and tetrahedral surfaces. Density of relaxation strengthens coupling of neighbors.
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UnStilted For the Masses
1 + 1 = 2
2 + 2 = 4
1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 4
Sorry. That would be getting clever again.
1 + 1 = 2
2 + 2 = 4
Anything above this, the legs get wobbly.
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Filed under: Poetry Poetry

