Glastomancy

Open your bowls

Three carrots sticks old

Sky soy and rolls

Badly shouted miso soup

Gravy made in glass droop

Close your forks

Rat tongues fried with pork

Devils justify their lords feast of course

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Trinity illustration

Breeze says me

Best come in three lot

Today, tomorrow, yesterday needs

What from this do you hope to achieve?

Can you describe sixty things you have done in the past that demonstrates this?

Are you a robot?

I’m not, but I am,

the product of but social and physical learning and conditioning within…

Instead they ask

I’m a yes but I’m a no

Strong my human blood flows

Can you describe?

Describe

How

You

Are?

But I’m just one person

One thing

A object but not

Money in the bank bank

Food in my fridge

Dream it learn it be it

it it it IT

Shorts working

Saturday morning car drive

History and my sigh

Feisty gritty remake

Watch it now

Again, binge

Consume

Create

Change?

Buggy sapience

Trolley lives in a allotment empty of grace

She waits for the summer nights for her race

Trips to the arthropods doorstep

Eats lunch with the queen, oh yes

Buggy sapience

Trolley gives a simple box of nuts

Payment for protection from buggy mace

Sips tea and nods agreeing sets

Going back home to bed, so wet

Buggy sapience

Trolley takes her axe to another growth of jinx weed

Sees the nuts from it gather on grounds she is pleased

Kid, it’s not a dream, you bet

Snake queen and the devils

Flames of the devils have come among us, first tickling then stabbing at our every pore jarring it future open. Blistering blood floats to the surface bringing with it further heat as if it’s been equally possessed by demonic charge.

—-

Tightly she squeezes, the serpent of winter. Sucking all the heat from the land into her body like a black hole, scaring the landscape with her frosty tendrils, and taking with her the heat. She will lay an egg mid winter and the devils will find it with their heat and incubate it, when it hatches again her daughter will scour the land in her place. Her death and corpse will lead to spring, and be turned to ash in summer. One day though, her body will not die, her daughter will not be born, the devils will not come back, as the frost envelopes the land allowing her to suck all heat forever.

Uncomfortable history as a source, and of its addition to the pancake stack

Our uncomfortable history

Little drips of it come out

From this pancake stack some seem to want to approve of

Just plain pancakes they want and will send it back

But no matter

The chef tried to do their best

Tried to scrape it again

Mix it through twinges of pains

Lest, we forget that the place is not what we know

Replace the chef

Serve the pancakes again

Uncomfortable history first tries to drip

But can’t

The pancakes taste so plain

No one, questions if the source can ever be made again

Five bottles

Five bottles sitting in the rim

Made of earth, made of glass, spun from of wood, grown from faith, free of sin

full of the flowers of the kings, each dripping with sweet honeydew scent within

pretend they contain your deepest dreams, see the silky skin

the heat, Softness, Full to the brim

I grasp at sunlight to spread upon that skin, to bring it to life, as gaze again

Shock to my scene, a wasp comes in, hoping to score a part of this gorgeous place. It soon brings all of its friends, and they make a neat nest and again I can not be here anymore

Five bottles no longer filled to the brim

The honeydew skilled all over the rim

Spoiled earth, broken glass, burnt wood, chained faith, coated with sin

Gallery purples

Clearly the pumps down and dump. Blue of heart and pink of blood. Curse the corpse of emotions. It’s a day that strikes my evocation.

Down the waters

Flood the brain

Sea of feeling

Ocean craze

Pure or evil decision to be felt. Crying on a balloon ride beyond a joke. I’m falling in my most empty ways.

Empty of knowing

What mistake

Words have passed

Empty and alone

And here is the sleeping razor

Witch soapbox for a little mousetrap. It’s short and full of minds blooms. Dead and hard in its action, forever crystal in its hate of itself. Duality has its heart fully cooked. Like my most important rainfalls.

Drought tourism

Has taken acting lessons

Misadventure on the streets

Blimp’s Folly

Standing in dawn darkness

Outline of a city below harkens

My frigid breath is icy waves

Cascade froth over the cappuccino gaze

Yellow dust flowers spring to life

Wattle, I breathe in its sand castle essence

Danger clouds face me; moon is a crescent

Up beyond a yellow blimp falls

Diners at the street cafe call

It crashes, down like a wet mop

It’s gallon shape flop, flop, flop

awake

Concenteena pantomine brushes

Damn

Blue the distance

Convergence we gather/crosses we shatter

I wish I was bulletproof on the tune player

Does it matter? Rafters/plots pantomime horse slayer

Cram

Leave this wish ant

Apple tastes, butter grace/fly buzzcut shone in the race

Moon kisses her mace. She wields it with all her grace

Flavour/silver bottle dies in a haste

Stamp

Is that a quote from Immanuel Cant?

Sleep is forbidden

Engulf our twilight, supersonic blood fights
Into darker green stars we stare
Despair dissipating single thoughts of care
Samurai floodlights, bitter pill is bitten twice
Grit on snow, as my blood simply flows
Wolves surround me, arm is taken freely
Picture all ours, on mountain rocky
Sleep is forbidden here, poisons twice as good for me.

Orange thunderhead 

dangerous thunderheads brought on by political blunder headsshreds of all the buildings, stings from hail and crops that failed 

will we be able to sail away from this place?

or rebuild to the wee hours? 

shelter is in the church tower 

doesn’t matter if you are so endowed

cower, from these storms and the winds power

irony of the day that it was some of these believers 

 procedures that made such a mess of this

climate depression, and the cowering congregation 

if it seems that Gaia is angry, perhaps that’s just debris in your supree
this angry orange man

does whatever he can

to take all you care about

twist into a doubt mouth 

he’s going to get worse

soon all of us will be in a hurse
dangerous blunder heads brought on by political thunderheads 

shreds of men, stings from baileys mail and promises that failed 

will we be able to save us?

Galaxy hall

I’m on my way down to galaxy hall the meeting place of devils and gore 

In the blustery palls sits every kind of horned beast of flamed saw 

And while I yawn my mothers calm breaths and the seas dark depths I am all gone

For about this place, is a bezel and grace that you’d not think would be adore

Flames along the way, and a marshal of the rammer army 

Playing hellish beats, and frying golden meats in the kitchen for the feast

I’m starting to feel welcome and safe which I did not expect to be a part of such a place 

I’m here now and must be making the best I can

Murcury is not dead 

Kill the message.

Kill the messenger. 

Murcury is not death, though

His is as deceiving as any one can tell

A theith and a lair, Larunda will not tell though

For cutthroat Jupiter hastily cut out her tounge 

You may think, that Murder has beseeched the messenger of the gods

You forgot they are just as tricksy as us if not more

But what else is a god, but the very hardened psychosis of us poorly mortals 

Rick and brother 

1. I’m just as bad as all of the rest

Telling the truth today 

It’s just a featherweight fighting for rate

Getting the bell because it’s used

Stony sand and a beer in a half pint 

Singing with motorcycles blooms 
Chorus:

But I don’t see how

Rick and his brother still love 

It’s all 9 hells and a few more to quell

Just down and down and down and down


2. I’m just as hurt as the man in the pond

Shooting up black opium

Hark the herald devils singing you home

Warehouse spaces left empty

Homeless emotions see the memory

Murder distance from trendil energies