Le casse la roi russe
Hello there, my prussian inquisitors...
This is the shakezula, returning again from the single struggling vestiges of the inner baronies. Inworld is falling, friends, and midworld is going too...
*ends the unessecarily obtuse references to the ravings of a demented King*
So. I've come to throw some quasi poetical (poemlet-ical a friend of mine might say) claptrap your way. To whit:
The wind breathes into my rooms,
Lethargic,
sullen but deliciously cool,
far too warm for the time,
far too cool not to appreciate in bare-ness.
I wear a sarong,
when my roomates aren't here,
perched on some of the fernlike
furniture that has sprouted and been saved from the
ignorant oblivion of away, by one of my
comrades in studied,
stilted,
stumbling
decadence which sprawls,
lemurlike, over the environs
we lovingly call
Ha.
The desk
crouched
broken
more a squatting amalgamation,
than the ordered construct
DESK
brings to mind.
Crouched atop the crouching
hybrid, a green bottle
tilts
and stares at me....
J'accuse!
It seems to scream
as I;
hearing the forgotten named levantine intone
the same words
while we played a game of fancy
in the middle of a University of Trees,
Thee crisp foreboding,
juniper never was good for you,
(to leave beside '13 other herbs')
and the snap of it
giddy and reeling
is welcome...
A little forbidden never did wrong to anyone.
So few times,
In life,
Have I ever fully committed myself,
and those times...
it never was important...
the people were never those who mattered...
Regrets are the wage of foolishness
but it is a check
I never have cashed
One framed
above my bed, that I look at,
When in my mind
the ceiling is bloated
geodesic,
the stain on it
fecund and spreading with each rain,
crawling down
then I look at my wages
then I take the lesson.
Regrets
have I none.
My life has played
as it needed.
It will play as I guide,
but I will guide as I must.
I've given up
you see
trying to find
The first galatic bank
of chthonic
draconian
despair.
I know my grocer wouldn't touch the check...
and short of burying myself beneath the sea,
I'll never really find the place that cut
the silvery remittance
on the fragile scale of a
monstrous 2 hearted fish
terrifying
......
But fish
from so great a depth
will come apart
disintegrate
if you only wind up the courage
ball up your fist
pull back your arm
and shove your fist inside...
(No...wait...you'll pardon my
straying
into strafing, teasing, furtively ruffling,
against my...or your...darker, lusty sentimentality)
Strike shove your fist....
insert something more poetic
say
'strike at the meaty, bullet silvered hide'
Much better.
Please note
it feels to me as if I've got two, maybe three seeds here. Not sure which I want to pursue...if any...for those of you with a passing interest, feel free to dig back through my posts for a more coherent poem, that I was tripledog dared into making. Though why you would want to, if the above is any indication is beyond me.
Off the damn wagon, cig-wise again. Climbing back on tomorrow...
Was quite comfortable, as far as geld is concerned...but I have had a number of unexpected expenses...so no longer. Next check will make things much better. Going to have to coast till then. No more joy drives...no more carousing.
A chaste and gentile fellow, am I constrained to be, for now.
Ps. Lunam0r, I'm sure you'll read this eventually...I'm going to assume the chances of you having a surviving copy of my 'Ganesha' poemlets are 0 to nil, right?
This is the shakezula, returning again from the single struggling vestiges of the inner baronies. Inworld is falling, friends, and midworld is going too...
*ends the unessecarily obtuse references to the ravings of a demented King*
So. I've come to throw some quasi poetical (poemlet-ical a friend of mine might say) claptrap your way. To whit:
The wind breathes into my rooms,
Lethargic,
sullen but deliciously cool,
far too warm for the time,
far too cool not to appreciate in bare-ness.
I wear a sarong,
when my roomates aren't here,
perched on some of the fernlike
furniture that has sprouted and been saved from the
ignorant oblivion of away, by one of my
comrades in studied,
stilted,
stumbling
decadence which sprawls,
lemurlike, over the environs
we lovingly call
Ha.
The desk
crouched
broken
more a squatting amalgamation,
than the ordered construct
DESK
brings to mind.
Crouched atop the crouching
hybrid, a green bottle
tilts
and stares at me....
J'accuse!
It seems to scream
as I;
hearing the forgotten named levantine intone
the same words
while we played a game of fancy
in the middle of a University of Trees,
Thee crisp foreboding,
juniper never was good for you,
(to leave beside '13 other herbs')
and the snap of it
giddy and reeling
is welcome...
A little forbidden never did wrong to anyone.
So few times,
In life,
Have I ever fully committed myself,
and those times...
it never was important...
the people were never those who mattered...
Regrets are the wage of foolishness
but it is a check
I never have cashed
One framed
above my bed, that I look at,
When in my mind
the ceiling is bloated
geodesic,
the stain on it
fecund and spreading with each rain,
crawling down
then I look at my wages
then I take the lesson.
Regrets
have I none.
My life has played
as it needed.
It will play as I guide,
but I will guide as I must.
I've given up
you see
trying to find
The first galatic bank
of chthonic
draconian
despair.
I know my grocer wouldn't touch the check...
and short of burying myself beneath the sea,
I'll never really find the place that cut
the silvery remittance
on the fragile scale of a
monstrous 2 hearted fish
terrifying
......
But fish
from so great a depth
will come apart
disintegrate
if you only wind up the courage
ball up your fist
pull back your arm
and shove your fist inside...
(No...wait...you'll pardon my
straying
into strafing, teasing, furtively ruffling,
against my...or your...darker, lusty sentimentality)
Strike shove your fist....
insert something more poetic
say
'strike at the meaty, bullet silvered hide'
Much better.
Please note
it feels to me as if I've got two, maybe three seeds here. Not sure which I want to pursue...if any...for those of you with a passing interest, feel free to dig back through my posts for a more coherent poem, that I was tripledog dared into making. Though why you would want to, if the above is any indication is beyond me.
Off the damn wagon, cig-wise again. Climbing back on tomorrow...
Was quite comfortable, as far as geld is concerned...but I have had a number of unexpected expenses...so no longer. Next check will make things much better. Going to have to coast till then. No more joy drives...no more carousing.
A chaste and gentile fellow, am I constrained to be, for now.
Ps. Lunam0r, I'm sure you'll read this eventually...I'm going to assume the chances of you having a surviving copy of my 'Ganesha' poemlets are 0 to nil, right?