Mrs. Direction

Mrs. Direction
Let us see if a point can be perceived or if a conceived then deceived purpose can skim the surface
Rehearse this
A man gives out gum on a street corner to unsuspecting youth screening truths and screaming sooths later on the children turn old and ultimately die, how does the gum relate to this phenomena can we say indisputably that there is no relation? How does the sensation of this query busting nation station this quotation?
If the same man who gave out gum added the sum of twenty nine clips of ammunition how would this decision affect any derision he would receive from the bereaved associates of the old dead youth?
Question: has one lost sight of the plight of this poem, did you see it, free it? From its verbal turpitude, what is its mood? Preposterous attention retention
Moving again
If one was a just cause for maximizing joy devising diversions, not to cast aspersions, but would this amount to perversions of equality; would we see downcast glee for all of society besides those we raise with on selective propriety. How does this affect those youths, what truths are worthy news?
Problems with poetics, judging by aesthetics, is the gleaning; word cleaning, letter leaning and metaphoric meaning. Start your weaning from those obscene, pristine floors and shores of flotsam phonetics.
Will this bill with its fill of confusion and a profusion of a literary obituary to some stationary turning of observant learning. Abandon all hope that you may cope and wring this rope enough to slope that feeling that your mind is reeling from scrabbling to grasp hold and enfold the meaning of your poetic gleaning
So now the man holds a plan that plots a scan of the surrounding wasteland where the old youth from lines told how the gum was roughly the sum of their degradation; how their station of elation at the realisation that sucrose crusted satiation was grasped and how they gasped their being out, so devout to recount that, that man, fiendish plan, ragged ran them to the ground crunching sound we have found.
Have you lost track of the mans’ meaning? Were you weaning it from this screening it, does it matter? Will this spatter of query evoke a theory that something is wanting from this flaunting of a literate barbiturate?
Suggestion: Curds of words congeal to seal an unreal feel from your mind (un-confined if refined or designed)
Remember the man, give a scan of the piece, does his lease to decease the youth and grease the truth have anything to do with (tell me you sleuth) the true intention of this invention (does my constant chiding and verbal biding seem like confiding to a dying soldier, making fading bolder) now a question that’s older
If one sees that intellect frees a monkey from his cage, where does the rage take centre stage? When the primate starts to salivate and questions fate, brings up debate with his brother will the other return courteously or placate curiosity with ferocity; what atrocity exists in the natural exchange of a corpus deranged (or changed) through wrath and attack of tool touting smack, would you hit back? How does it bind your hands with demands, those civil stands and contrabands upon abuse profuse and clues to environmental ethics of: no ethics in the slightest
Now the brightest among us may perk your ears and shimmy round fears that the careers of the analyst or canonist are within striking distance; push your pistons to reach the breach and please, please teach me what it is that is in this line that is so divine, lest you malign my poor design or will resign to how little we all pretend we don’t know
Won’t you show
Your ignorance off
Flaming moth
Regardless, if we charge this problem directly expectedly we will run into obstacles if our grammar stalls them will that eliminate or simply inseminate the issue, I wish you could see past this fresh true big and blue sky, we all die, even when we try to sidestep, to except this confusion, a profusion of illusion non-conclusion and diffusion among this rabble, will they dabble with gods prods and tooling clods; hack my mods to free us from the kingdom of deadly sum.
Did you forget that man, another scan, his age is past, he was cast a stone, alone. Will you condone, his holy zone of hell, how swell this idea this welling and wheeling flee, flee from obvious glee too bright to see. Please see past the stones we cast, have a blast, on the house, let your brain chase that souse of mind we may find that we have climbed above the maze, wanton craze of thoughtful phase let the plays part their ways with the intellectual ineffectual bleating of hearts past beating and thoughts past heating. Don’t turn back on the one way track, choice is as illusory as any other carry of decision, face derision bravely, make provision insanely, “let us all join hands and sing the-“fuck-off prayer. You left me under stair to rot, you bought me a gift for yourself, left hope on the shelf, serve yourself, great divine fuckery.
Did we veer off the path? Do the math if one motive plus all the confusion (nay, a profusion of delusion) providing the collusion of sensation and relation to our habitation. Again, meditation on origin flaws (gleaning meaning) mindfully claws. Gummed down gunner, let led fly, do your best to truthful ply, sooth say lie, make meaning cry. The world unfurled all its derision, on our decision (make the incision, into the pale, pressed to the veil) forcing wail, and planned derail. Meant to split attention gaze, and motive flays, whittle down the days and all the ways we thought we knew to live.

So where are we left?
Totally bereft? Have we cleft, interpretation from sensation?
Great elation, at the pieces termination?
What of the man, where can he stand, if we did sand his external, revealing infernal deportment or an assortment of the court meant villainy. Distil in me the meaning, this screening will convey, some might say; “There is no way this comes to much, a verbal buffoon with a linguistic crutch.” Maybe those who look too hard will only manage to retard the meaning that I do intend, but let us not ever pretend that plain of face is not to be. It stares at you as it stares from me.

Long twitchy eyes, surprise, surprise they won’t stare at bare reality;
Seeking only the kaleidoscopic wonderment of un-living earths.

Village Ideologues

I only hate your slavishness
Nothing personal
Strictly fitness
Survival of
People comma we the

I sold my missiles for bottle caps
And bicycles snaps
Leather chaps a chance to prance freely
Be gay without any connotations
Be anything without any connotations

I only hate you for your slavishness
Your gluttony
Your litany
Of consumerist hedonism
Drizzled like chocolate on
Corpse of causality
Mentality is as is
As we all know
What do I have to show
For all the effervescent glow
That ragtime radio-show
It’s been looping for 200 years too few

Someone turn off that radio with the 12 gauge please

___
Think into existence
Speak into creation
If only
If we went backwards then
It would all be possible
The solution to your answer is within the problematic range
This first bar on the graph represents what you’d expect
This second and third and fourth are re-enforcements of what you’d expect (maybe with some correlation, comments on causation) still no great sensation
But watch what happens when we break the pattern
Bar number five is of infinite gravity view it and break your china doll smiles
And bemused brows
Accept the derangement in all of its shifted significance
We wouldn’t want things to get boring now would we?
Here’s a cap-gun, some caps, a bottle of gin and a switch blade
Go distribute the false securities and then when they’re hooked
Cut them off

___
Just for one day I’d like to say how I broke down some walls
I opened my maw and the shadow saw the hate it fails and stalls
I’d tear it around and rip it through and find a place to plant
A ghastly seed, it fed on greed, and tried to face a rant

I’d stand on stilts and shout it out, on how it ought to be
Arrange your life, rip out that strife, and then I’d let you see
How it was I felt for us, how I make my way throughout the day
I like to play and care for this or that, I care for one, my light, my sun

Although I know to share, so many need some care
Although I don’t know where, to give and live
What should I sieve out from that doubt
Which is paramount to life/love/living/death
All that is and should be

___
Futility drives hard against the decadent shell
Knowing now, knowing how all was known too well
I count the time the knife has struck against the hallowed wall
Knowing now, knowing how I’d like to watch them fall
Line up and take their licks that I refuse to give
Living all retention grasped, not a way to live
I smile a while and spout the lies that they expect by now
About how happy I have been about the crap that they would chow
But all is just a state of mind, twirling without rest
I’ve tried so hard, hope to retard the thoughts that once were best
Shifting cloud, crying loud, why was it these cards
Drinking wine, fuck divine, eating up steel shards
“I hoped it would not come to this” emptying dead shells
Reload all our brazen clips and “welcome to our hells!”
Point blank
Intensity of the worst/best kind
Obliterating all everything
It’s for the best

___
Sirens at 8:37 AM
Why do people have to go and get themselves hurt so early in the morning?
A callous hand clutches at my temple
I’m walking somewhere I don’t want to go
Another weekday
I clutch at the side of my head
Hoping somehow to ward the sound away
It likes to stay
Ringing and ricocheting off the walls in my mind
Like a jingle heard too many times, too often, too annoying
It’s the most wonderful
Ly annoying thing, a terrifying mortification of consideration
I won’t anymore
If once more
Just once more
I’ll rampage into that CEO’s office grab him by the head and
Pop
Nothing left to grab at
Better get those clothes cleaned
A little club soda I hear gets out the stains that club made
When you cut down that loud mouthed philistine
He had it coming
Did/n’t he?
I heard he did
Someone whispered through the walls that
“people should keep their insanities to themselves”
It’s a dangerous business, this stepping out of line
Better leave it to the professionals
The Ginsbergs and the Gandhis
The Church and State
The others and their retainers
They all had an air of
Historical superiority about them, they had already been there, done their things made their names
So they can do it again, as many times as I’ve read it done
Forging things with untested, unprofessed, un-proven hands can prove a more difficult affair
I do declare
That I do not know what I’m doing any longer
What the fuck is a poem
Never heard of them
What are words?
But a slapdash arrangement
Lines and curves
Meanings and a misconstruing
Of
“What did he mean/What was he on/How can I get rid of this troubling unknowing as quickly as possible?”
Words, more words
…
The sirens are still ringing
Shut the hell up already, if you’re going to get hurt just go for broke
I’m trying to watch something over here
Not that they care about my problems, their blood isn’t theirs anymore
The earth took it back, they probably miss it
But for how long?
How long do you want to keep?
How long are we doing here?
How
How howl how
Aaaah
Terrific reliving
Relief or terror?
Look left and right, all together this time
I think it’s time
To end this Franken-being
Of an
End