One-armed Scissor (Bush = Evil Empire)  

Aaarrrggh 46M
35 posts
6/21/2006 8:38 am

Last Read:
6/21/2006 8:41 am

One-armed Scissor (Bush = Evil Empire)

Splayed endless.
Organs on indecisive surgeons rely with a stutter sputtering on endless days of laborious breath in the catchment of broken hearts. The animalistic politics of now and then to then and thenner to nower to tomorrow to tomorrower.

And what of alive? Is it a feeling or a state?

This thought I thought is as useful as the number 13 on a clock;
Like pockmarked movie stars and their mercenary talk.
Like presidents from a mentally retarded stock.
Like captives worried about their locks.
Bent and bending and moaning and groaning, citing remorses, like lovers who get charlie-horses. Living like whores holding babies on street corners, selling everything, but nobody’s buying except for buggers and snakes who dry dates on window sills made of hate. We’re all Lincoln in a theatre where no-one has our back. Tested daily by work that needs working, numbers that need crunching, burgers that need selling, fat that needs thinning, veins that need pumping, life that needs something. There are homos that are sapiens, and ecces that are homos that, either way, are crucified somehow by those who testify “ecce sapientum” who marry conviction to corruption as those who liken kindness to seduction.

For every degree of freedom lost I want a refund at cost, ‘cause freedom that exists is the difference between security and risk. The currency of mercy can be the currency of fate, but has a poor exchange rate. Gold has better chance if your asking the girl to dance to Abraxas along the nexus of a knife edge in 6-8 time, the waltz of Mephisto, from here to San Francisco.

Powerhouses invade houses and flout the rights which it espouses, flossing danger from their teeth under the premise to protect the weak. At home the freeze is on but who cares when the heat is on, for them at least--for us the pipes leak, the window creak, the outlook bleak we try to speak, but are numbed and drowned by the winds of change harnessed by those who wear the crown.

And now there a soldier lies, splayed endless under surgeons’ knives, who stutter and sputter for endless days, labouring intently to save this one from ebbing into the tributaries of the catchment of broken hearts where death plays its severest part.

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