Thursday, May 19

Friends, Strangers, Nomads Keep Yourselves Free From Disordered Inclinations That Attack The Soul

All kinked up, mangled

chaos, confusion,

may enter a disordered head,

Distorted sounds like wild hair, indecipherable

elements that never amount to a relevant word

Because it is the screeching in the clamor, the clatter,

the uproar in the battle, but just tell me have you ever seen blood dripping from the canal of an unwanted ear

Yet this is how it shall pervade in small water deep rivers a proximal entry to the brain So there may be nothing else that you can do other than to grimace, facial expressions,

stretched skin at the outer edge, the corners of a mouth that have been burnt and battered for too many unkind remarks and unpolished pearls, see it simmering there, efforts to bring the new world rising

for it will bring the nomads to the flatland, desolate grass an uncomfortable place

There is promise, raving spirits that bring drum beats with uptight palpitating flesh, a trip to a region just outside a captivating semblance an attempt to derive meaning from something that shall never be really understood but possession has its merit, the camels, the cannons, the infantry and the herd as deafness may tarnish the teeth, the trinity and all that has yet to appear

The tension is unbearable, syllables discreet unable to decode the politics of passion sleeping around with cobwebs upon very bad ground in high weather, adamant, clean

It lingers at various altitudes, fine trees, brilliant willows but this is where the wanderers may live bungling about looking for food, places to rest and a bite to eat

Yet how could anyone adapt when the input never stops tumultuous noise, sensory overload, deafening rounds of turbulent fire, furor, outcry, disturbances in the rye But this is not a question of small green meanies coming through a blue machine, rather

it is a sorry state so sad lost in a cavernous breach never finding a small hole exorbitant might tiny ants extended antennas disjointed thoughts on mercy’s bed predilections, horror, nightmare, dead dogs, bloody paws, quivering flesh, open sores conspicuous interludes, balling upward on hind legs but everything has been lost conversations with tepid people who will steal the night away

But somehow the temptation really kills, the desire to find comfort in the madness, festering wounds caused by sensation, unfamiliar ludicrous and dark, feint memories,

repetitive thoughts, circling, moving to panic, consternation, apprehension, molten lava and excruciating dread.