State: Instrumental

I cannot stand to be a man
I’ll be a gun

If you’re bigger
Pull my trigger

For fun

I cannot bear to feel her tears
Turn me to stone

To smash and maim
The order’s aim

I’m thrown

I cannot take the mess of life
Your livery
Removes my need
To see they bleed
Like me

It’s me I shoot

I break my head

And wear your suit

I’m good as dead

cuntries

cuntries cum and

cuntries go

sum cuntries suck

sum cuntries blow

sum cuntries fight

sum cuntries share

sum think they’re right

and sum don’t care

sum cuntries play a dayndruss game

sum change their tune

sum change their name

sum cuntries cheat

sum cuntries lie

sum send you off

sumwhere to die

and cuntries cum

and cuntries go

but how they think

we just don’t know

Digitalis

Reynard the Curious explores,
He sniffs his path through forest floors,
As bees inside their dactyl glove
Proboscis-probe for honey love.

His hungry nose leads to a bower,
Hung with tubed, scented, purple flower.
A black and feathered thing he spies;
A Crow! And Lo! She holds a prize…

With sweetened tongue the Fox doth speak,
To feasting Crow, with laden beak.
Thus flattered, she lets out a caw -
Her bounty falls to forest floor.

The Crow thinks; I’m a foolish bird,
I’ve been undone by fawning word -
But all’s not lost. Now let me think.
This clever Fox must need a drink.

“Before you dine, Fox, tell me first,
How you intend to quench your thirst?
The river’s dry. The puddles? Bare.
But see that pitcher over there…”

“It’s true, I’m parched. There is no doubt.
But, how to get that water out?”
“Fox, you speak well, but I am smart.
I have a way. Such is my art.”

Says Crow, “I’ll show. And we’ll imbibe.
Just share your meal. This is my bribe.”
“Why Crow, it really does appear,
You scheme like me. Let’s team, my dear.”

And so the Crow doth pebbles drop,
‘Til water reaches pitcher top.
Hence, Corvid-Vulpes bond is made
Forever, in that forest glade.

So, comes the moral of our tale;
If by some flatterer you fail,
Then turn the tables on their tongue
By being more than words have won.

i, Person

Found some code

And made a bird

They’re singing louder

Near the city

I turn up the remote control

The feathered thing obeys the programme

Makes an egg

And somewhere they will cook an omelette

It’s all Nature

Metanarrative

It’s just another tragedy.

Not first, not last.  I know

Its algorithmic frequency;

A back page tale of woe.

With other lives, and other grief,

All bones in a mass grave

Of stolen years.  Prodigious thief

Who cares not for the brave.

The birds should stop.  The sky should fall.

Yet planets turn as though

The world sees nothing changed at all

By how that deal did go.

Is it a joke?  If so, it’s poor.

Cruel Bard, please change the plot.

I am not laughing anymore

(But you care not a jot).

And this will pass as age old pain

Will also pass and fade.

Not noted Queen, but rather rain

That falls on our parade.

Hot Air

It could have been a flight of crims

But boldness beat the Monarch’s whims

And saw a Marquis in the air

With valiant de Rozier.

The Laws of Physics hold this gift;

When things get heated, we get lift.

Crowds hotting up.  They’re on the rise.

The Social Aviator’s prize

Comes at a price.  Agitations

Create distance.  Atoms.  Nations.

So are we Men or molecules?

Perhaps we’re both.  Perhaps we’re fools.

Perhaps we shouldn’t aim too high –

Look up, not down, from that Big Sky?

We could try sideways and sustain

Another’s loss as our own pain,

So on our journey we might see

The sight worth seeing:  You as Me.

Black Triangle

Anarchist arrow. Pointing down. 
An hourglass frame contains 
My Muse. Perhaps 

Pythagoras would 
Frown to ponder 

Her hypo
Ten

Use