What's on your Brain. Objectivity affects what force, before Subjectivity is manifest?

One Come a Day, The Water Will Run

turn off that smokestack and
that goddamn radio: hum... along with me...

Oh, I don’t care what the letter reads, I don’t believe in Adderall. I don’t use it; I don’t prescribe it; Adderall has a very high potential for addiction. I’ll give you Concerta. Concerta is the same thing— [nevermind the self-contradicting statement, so much double-talkin’ jive, spilt all over you just now—and please, can’t you see I’ve got patients waiting? Now that I’ve opened the door, won't you please just go away—leaving payment on your way out, of course!]

I think I know what’s going on. Come back in three months. [hmm... I need a good, stock phrase for salutation. I've got it!:]

We’ll get to the bottom of this.

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Madria Arie

Pure lies spun
the Dark One.
The purer did lay.
Laid, for fun, feigned that femme
'fore future yon ye flowering, flushed
As this flies,
lingering load, blue
'fore that blew, had blown so many
yet none so well,
N'er could I, even lusting,
yearned as I before her precious mouth:
femme lips
mowed lust.

Luscious lips most believed;
most deceived

lusting for love, and so it did die.

Sadly, not 'ware,
When that died for naught,
'Deed yon, worn true, to be not through
yet lives, not lost; flung.

For that flight, none did she bleed,
but for an encore,
pitiful esteem,
By applause, sustaining.

Stage bound, sustained
Bound to stage
Maintains famed petty pace
pretty pets
so caged, painting face.

Would that, I yea, but for all of Hades
Confounded thought-- that whence evil
Serpentine did flow, before her blood
Not mine only, but two wounded.
Wicked, this way and that
She comes,
And came wet, so whetted this palette too much,
And, wet, seems I did not scar, callus:

Fortune by circumstance
turn unfortunate craft:
Balanced, congruent, take 'bout
one-eighty degrees
not natural intimation
so designed, so to break.

First sighted
twenty and too, fabricate,
dramatic bitches,
so-called family
one of three Wicked Witches

Foresight too poor
for sirens, fat-feasted
Whip smart; taste pure
neither numbered, one more
Prey, I: in Thespian House.

Aimless for lease:
read 'tween the lines
How is it, as washed, cut and dried
once innocent mind, naive
matriculated to Master
brewed not to believe.

Destined encounter,
counter elements, not we,
changeling cunt.

Death's fortune: truth.
Far beyond cast, and crew
Reality broadcast, and laughable too
How learned, became malice
one wonders of you

Dare I this day feel,
yet some hunger, by wicked passion whetted:
to slide, i'd slip
As many as before, i beckon
recklessly as you,
this reckless unto thee.

The Male animal slobbers
sink teeth not to sore,
made n'er lullaby
as sweet as She roar.
She animal drips
bawling sweet melody:
“how 'bout this?” once more!

Confessed, each
unto each of less percent
valued number
recall, man; recall woman
my woman, her man

Kept dual purpose, Faculty
immediately less
Lady lay, dissonant
Truth from that channel

Slither, shed skin,
Amongst pets still sicken,
Find then, yet well hidden
his marionette group
trained well not to vomit.

Ultimate Accused: Formerly Presiding
Gram of white-magic;
Power wielding Shock
Not the Hen, but the…
N'er could dote thee again,
come knocking, many: as Thespians do
Feign again, through its end.
So jerked-'way, i for too much
precipitation,
but breathless by wonder
toward your destination.

What else?
I wax sardonic.
Giggle at what expense;
Intersect harmonic
pleasant poppies, past-tense
undone
what bourne of ancient tea?
Heroin.
Lower there, in the valley--
where all this, a fantasy
So much, soft and lovely,
but loathing the thought.

And loathed too, said she,
the memory.
Never-Believer.

Fool, so fine,
fine thing, so alive,
sensibility of sight, a fine piece of ass
yet n'er since a night.

Suffering-insensible!
Suffering is sense. And sense?
I must suffer,
for I taste thee at night--
true, only this--
if time renders right.

Tear out those which make ye
so clingy to sin,
or Broadway beneath
bitch.

Into the mirror, harken:
we fuck.
Fantastically, filthy, merged,
singular will

weightless,
session,

oblivious,
sin.

Final recoil
Cleansed
In that dusty blood:
Freedom;
Less sickened.

©2009 S, j

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[ Fig.8 ] For the Hero In Ad Diction

I'M ON THE SHELF:
'Cause it SEEMS to help
If I can Keep a little bit o' DISEASE
-- Shannon Hoone

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