June 2019

Slaying the dragon

Slaying the dragon,
Slaying the ghosts,
I dream of hands
unfettered,
I dream of hands
alight

Each morning I see my
Face
Each morning I see my
Death

A mirror
A mirror
A mir at best

Bang! Bang!

I donโ€™t much scream these days, or
Ever to be fair. I donโ€™t await your fake
and humanly climax. I bite you as
I lick your wanting, Whoโ€™s for Chinese
Fish Fingers? Our human endeavours
as things goes, bang! Bang! Bang!
Banging you, fingering me,
as the ultimate
cumming
of words
bequeath me

through the valleys

I learned many years ago, the name of
police - in Welsh, and walking โ€˜cross the
mountains, through the valleys; through
and though, I found a better way.

What at first appeared as mere fiction
she taught me was the ways of old, and
I having no better clue; I went with it --

Oh the fool

undertheheart:

You are

Fingering the fan

Flaming with desire

Wrapped up, an insatiable state

A single star burns

Bursting forth

In rapid succession

Reliving a moment

Timeless and soft

“Finger the fan” – me likes ๐Ÿ™‚

among sparrow stars

such a noble name we gave it  / a precious pet among sparrow stars / dead in deeds unimaginable / a fire-breathing door adancing / I kneel before the name of names / the humble  among the humblings / the one from outside the universe of ours / a crossing of many paths untreaded / such is the path ahead / such is the truth / such is the answer sought / such and such and thus: is jaysome

What does [redacted] even mean?

“No sir, I was standing under this very tree when they appeared in a puff of smoke, over there”

“I didn’t, no, no no. There was no flash, just smoke”

“Except for two people appearing out of thin air? No today’s been like any day I guess, the play has been good, I’m enjoying the park setting”

“Not allowed to say what? What does [redacted] even mean? [redacted] implies [redacted]? Oh. Even on a Tuesday? Right. My lips are sealed. Zipped.

smakkabagms:

I need new words

and in the end

the goddess chose

her weapons; the

collected words of

bipeds, the blender

of sharpened scissors,

and reluctantly she pressed

play

.

and the pages shattered

and the paragraphs fell

and the words divine – divided;

only lettered symbols remained

.

and so it began

from the nothingness became

a single dot – not an end

a single dot – unfonted

a single thought of words

wanted – awesomely inspiring

and so the fires burn

through the speech

of fair ladies,

solemnly spoken

the words of beasts,

the potion of the

longing heart,

seeping down

her broomstick

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