Where dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berrys

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim gray sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car,

In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,

The solemn-eyed -

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest

For he comes the human child

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand

From a world more full of weeping than he can understand

Yeats FTW.

Time (Imipolex G):

Spinster
In her tower of
Sand inside glass,
Listening to the ticking
Of the hearts of her
Windup toy mortals.

Soft, what human mortal
Breaks through the window glass
Upon his valiant 6-string steed,
Belting out the mighty chords
Dmin-Gmin-Dmin-Amaj?

Sweeping the eternal
Spinster off her feet. (Bb! Bb!)
Bosom heaving as she
Strikes him back. (Dmin! Dmin!)
A mere windup man, she sneers.
Watch that I don’t break your key. (Bb! Bb!)
Yet he and she share the inevitable.
Neither of them will cease (A! A!)

D minor, D minor.
The chord rings out as
It is finished.

I personify contradiction

Squiddle's Anthem:

Ave Machina!
Glory to the gears and
Sprockets that propel us
Screaming, confused,
To a glorious new age

Behold!
My left leg is of
Weak human sentiment,
Of flesh and blood.
My right leg pulses with
The strength of something stronger,
The crackling of Prometheus's flame.
Should we not strive to become
Steel and thunder in a human corpse?
Said the doctor to the patient,
Trapped in his prison

Deny your face, you creature,
Deny your birth, deny the things
That seem so familiar.
I will show you what lies
Behind the veil of eyelids.
I shall show you power.

^ So I did.

Acolyte (Haven and Haven's Apprentice):

I put on the suit.
The flames begin to ignite as
I put on the suit.
The puns fill my head to
The point of cranial puncture as
I put on the suit.
The blaze within me
Matches the blaze without and
The sirens blare as
I put on the suit.
The cycle waits outside,
Card in the spokes,
Flames in the paintjob,
Waiting patiently as
I put on the suit.

We ride,
Listening to the lame-ination
Of the card flipping in the spokes,
Ignoring the sirens of
The police cars that
Always follow us.

The city remains cold.
The world remains cold.
And she,
Well,
The night is still young.

The Lizard’s Fiery Soul (Aliroz):
When one walks by the bookshelves,
Vast walls of human thought,
You can see a lizard strutting,
Proudly, deliberately,
Atop the great walls.
It has a hat.

Where does it get its hat?
It makes it from its own soul,
The strength that brought it to such heights

It looks down on the world
From the lofty shelves,
Through its gleaming eyes.
When it comes down, it argues
For the sake of its anger.
It’s mad at the boys who cut down words
The girls who dress without shame,
The children who live in the present
And ignore the past.
It fights out of this anger
To keep its soul alive.

Where does it get its soul?
It was thrust upon it, while it was young.
Why aren’t we so lucky?

Broken

Gonna get tumblr famous

^ I quite like this one.

Ribbons:
We trail paths
Across the mountain ranges,
The stalwart walls of the earth,
Across the waters,
Moats for lesser times.
We tie ourselves together
With strings and ribbons
Strung across every nation.
We're afraid of losing each other.

Ribbons of concrete,
Crisscrossing maps
Like cracks in a painting.

Strings of electricity,
Shocking nations,
Charging the youth.

Applying Love:
Love is Patient
Love is Kind
Love = 0 (Tennis Postulate)
Sin(love) = 0
Love doesn’t boast
elove = 1
f has a minimum at x=love and x=love+15
g(x) =ʃxlove f(t) dt
Love is quantifiable.
Love is nothing combined with itself.
Love multiplies everything into love
Love is not quantifiable.
Ln|love| does not exist
Neither does (x/love)
The answer to life is love
The true goal of many is love
The most leftward location of a point of
Concavity for g(x) is x=    
Love
Love, love, Love, love, Love
Ln|15((sin(love)cos(love)tan(love))/sec(love))|= love
Love is long-suffering.
Love goes into love eternally ((a/a)= 8 sideways)
Hope, faith and love remain
But the greatest of these is love
(Therefore, Hope+Faith<0)
Finally, absolute |love| is nothing compared to real numbers.
Proven, applied, sent to the MAA

this is the return of the snake men who shake playpens.

Cuz kiddies, this is not the kind of day that you want to stay in.

I get it snappin' like crayfish.

But you and yourself?

You are Kanye West. Gay Fish.

Insane shit. Stained Glass Painting.

But it's not really raining.

At least not yet.

It's more of a drizzle

and I'm here to drop acid raindrops to make your skin sizzle

when I get you wet.

I mean to burn off, cuz I'm turned off by your derp drops.

You burn soft.

You're lukewarm,

I'm hotter than Helios. God of the Sun.

I'm a ghostwriter with no real writer to ghost for,

you're a writer in desperate need of a ghost to make your normal paranorm.

But when you hear the thunderstorm you'll wish for a parasol,

cuz my liquid ichor spittin will leave you with a scattered soul.

The sole skullboy turns on, boy are you fucked.

I will run you down with eight separate forces like two trucks.

The insect overlord, the skull god. So odd that I'm Illmatic like Nas.

You're just a bad fad and a lost cause. So get gone.

So when you decide to bite the food that you're hallucinating

I suggest getting down to the line and stop procrastinating.

If you're going to paraphrase a letter that was never written

you should really stop spittin' and keep it together like a rivet. 

Simply? It's this shit. 

Also interested in such a forum

there once was a racist old bigot

who was cursed to the form of a spigot

he was then gifted to hippies

who found the whole matter quite trippy

who said "it's not ironic, but okay, I can dig it"

this is long but it is worth it to read

gregory corso - "marriage"

Should I get married? Should I be good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustus hood?
Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky-

When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit with my knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where's the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap-
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?

Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter
but we're gaining a son-
And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?

O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just wait to get at the drinks and food-
And the priest! he looking at me as if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on-
Then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight
The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
Everybody knowing! I'd almost be inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climactic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner
devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy
a saint of divorce-

But I should get married I should be good
How nice it'd be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting my baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! Like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust-

Yes if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear nor Roman coin soup-
O what would that be like!
Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle a bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon

No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father
Not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly tight New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV
The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking-
No! I should not get married! I should never get married!
But-imagine if I were married to a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and a highball in the other
and we lived high up in a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days
No, can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream-

O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
It's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes-
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there's maybe a girl now but she's already married
And I don't like men and-
But there's got to be somebody!
Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married,
all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All the universe married but me!

Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible-
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so i wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.

I didn't even bother spacing this one out, most of the rhymes are so slant they're impossible to see.

--------------------------

this one is for Minnie, simply cuz she's the quickest to ever get me, let it be--The Beatles--cuz she's a cheater and a schemer, more importantly psychopathic with a ratchet or more like a knife so you'd better watch it, 

look, they would've welcomed you to the NHK anyway but conspiracies are for freaks and pussies so for one last time lock your looks, please. Stop talking and start walking take a stick around the outline and start chalking. Turned out to be the girl of my dreams about dying, felt like I was flying, but she was just lying. Conniving, trying to stab the butterfly's wing, so if you see a two foot tall stick sickly bitch with thick black hair I'd suggest running rather than stopping to stare, the girl's not what she looks like especially not when she pulls out a big knife. So think twice. I recommend booking a long flight before you end up sleeping a long night. 

so when you're lookin to turn the conniver crooked while she's trying to write a book on what she's doing with her hooks in your lips, well....that's your prerogative.

It is always snowing
in my deepest being,
a snow of sleep, a snow unending.

When I see the blur of snow
falling over distant pines,
I feel a subtle peace, a reassurance.

When I watch it blowing
over the stubble, over the stalks,
a kind of serenity fills me.

My friends have warned:
the death wish is symbolized by snow.
I know. I know.

I woke up with this in my head today, don't really know what it means:

we spoke one last time
sniveled last goodbyes
before the blinding flash
that infernal light
set us all afire
we lived long
we lived well
we had no regrets
except maybe one
that we never found
a way to survive
being razed by the morning sun

I heard that story. It's quite terrible. But fascinating.

So anyway, here's my current obsession, 'Travelogue of Exiles', by Karl Shapiro.
----
Look and remember. Look upon this sky;
Look deep and deep into the sea-clean air,
The unconfined, the terminus of prayer.
Speak now and speak into the hallowed dome.
What do you hear? What does the sky reply?
The heavens are taken: this is not your home.

Look and remember. Look upon this sea;
Look down and down into the tireless tide.
What of a life below, a life inside,
A tomb, a cradle in the curly foam?
The waves arise; sea-wind and sea agree
The waters are taken: this is not your home.

Look and remember. Look upon this land;
Far, far across the factories and the grass.
Surely, there, surely they will let you pass.
Speak then and ask the forest and the loam.
What do you hear? What does the land command?
The earth is taken: this is not your home.

Who are you?
Heck if I know
Why are you here?
Nothing better to do

The world is at her beck and call
She walks in another world, alone,
Though it’s like she’s in arm’s reach,
Close enough to—touch, even,
Her steps are out of sync with yours,
Her trail tells a different story,
And she has learned to struggle,
On her own, and fight and live.
There is nothing you can give her

You want to be the hero, the
White knight on the horse, smiting
Anything standing between her and
Happiness. How romantic. And foolish.
She will not accept a savior
She will not allow herself to be victimized
She is herself, she needs no man
To be the wind beneath her wings.

Do you fear the force of the wind,
The slash of the rain?

Go face them and fight them,
Be savage again.

Go hungry and cold like the wolf,
Go wade like the crane:

The palms of your hands will thicken,
The skin of your cheek will tan,

You'll grow ragged and weary and swarthy,

But you'll walk like a man!

Eleanor Wilner - High Noon at Los Alamos

To turn a stone
with its white squirming
underneath, to pry the disc
from the sun’s eclipse—white heat
coiling in the blinded eye: to these malign
necessities we come
from the dim time of dinosaurs
who crawled like breathing lava
from the earth’s cracked crust, and swung
their tiny heads above the lumbering tons
of flesh, brains no bigger than a fist
clenched to resist the white flash
in the sky the day the sun-flares
pared them down to relics for museums,
turned glaciers back, seared Sinai’s
meadows black—the ferns withered, the swamps
were melted down to molten mud, the cells
uncoupled, recombined, and madly
multiplied, huge trees toppled to the ground,
the slow life there abandoned hope,
a caterpillar stiffened in the grass.
Two apes, caught in the act of coupling,
made a mutant child
who woke to sunlight wondering, his mother
torn by the huge new head
that forced the narrow birth canal.

As if compelled to repetition
and to unearth again
white fire at the heart of matter—fire
we sought and fire we spoke,
our thoughts, however elegant, were fire
from first to last—like sentries set to watch
at Argos for the signal fire
passed peak to peak from Troy
to Nagasaki, triumphant echo of the burning
city walls and prologue to the murders
yet to come—we scan the sky
for that bright flash,
our eyes stared white from watching
for the signal fire that ends
the epic—a cursed line
with its caesura, a pause
to signal peace, or a rehearsal
for the silence.

Rewritten Squid Poem

Psychedelic Squid:

3
It’s silver and exact, with no limitations
Whatever it swallows, it spits out decisively,
Exploding sharp and precise. Plunging into
The armflesh, it tastes the filthy blood.
The madness begins. Messiness is found
In the newfound, flailing tentacles

7
Footsteps creeping, like mice
Knowing the cat is awake. Am I
So frightening to her? The beak is rough
On her bosom, that heavenly chest, but
Am I so frightening? Is my bleeding stare
So rough on her? The needle holes on
The tentacles make me hideous, I know.
But I love her. Go, Leanne, take the taxi,
Return to your mother and date a lawyer.
I’ll still be here in my castle. I’ll still be
The last of my kind.

1
Listen to the streets.
The boy with the carapace for skin,
Formed from the father’s guiding hand,
Has long since overturned the desk,
Flung the books into the drink.
Look for him. The boy with the haggard face,
Walking the streets, always hearing
That drunken drawl, his breath,
The calluses of the guiding hand
Against his face. There he waits,
Passing his father’s inheritance to anyone
Looking for trouble. Please, for his sake,
Listen.

4
Beauty is
    Leanne
    Her breasts
    Her—
Her breasts, of course, and then
Everything else about her.
Who else could dive into
My secret lair, buried under the haze
Where I’ve secluded myself,
This, my glowing, colorful fantasy.
She nests within my tentacles,
The pearl of this shadowed basement,
Where I tripped and fell forever.
She talks, but all I hear is
Beauty is, beauty is

2
Something that can pierce armor
Is loosely what was needed. A bullet
Through the skin of his existence.
The tried and true way out of being
Substandard, low-life, nobody.
You can’t be nobody if you’re someone
Else, the man who erupts behind the eyes
When the chemicals are catalyzed.
Yes, the ancient method.
May it hold true even now.

5
The world is red and blue,
Flooding out the other colors.
Even the darkness seems to flee,
And I open my eyes and the ugliest,
Foul-tempered beast ever to walk
Around with a badge, seven-horned
And spitting fire eyed me with a grin.
What was I supposed to do? Run?
How was I supposed to know that
I was punching a man under that visage?

10
They spoke of the ultimate high
The peak of the diamond in the sky
I wanted to see it once, before I died.
So I went to go see it, packed up
All the pills and needles and loaded up,
Started climbing, all day, all night,
And by the time I got there—
My corpse was waiting for me!

8
Squids can travel anywhere, you know.
Stronger, more resilient than you bipeds,
Only need a sip of water now and then.
The bus takes us anywhere we want,
And the nuns always give us extra fish.
So, fine, send me away.
I’ll be fine.

6
Court Transcript:

Why do I feel bad for Psychedelic Squid? Because he is a broken shell of a man, sustained only by an intake of ungodly amounts of psychotropic drugs? Does he do anything but smoke drugs? And so it was that in the year 1981 of Our Lord, Psychedelic Squid did roam the outer spheres of the cosmos and return with a rich bounty of wisdom and dubious substances which did bring forth from the deep slumber of 10,000 years the forgotten work of the ancients. Psychedelic Squid sez you should try LSD. What is the truth? He's high? He's you? He's not real? He's my real father? Or take part of the Elizabethan era and have it intrude into the Warring States period of China. Or have the post-Apocalyptic 22nd century start to intermingle with the late Middle Ages. You dig? Groovy. Giant axon. He's an aging hippie who lives in somebody's basement, doing lots of drugs, listening to 60s rock and imagining he's a squid that can warp time. IT'S GROOOOOOOVY, MAN. 1969 NEVER ENDED. Time is in for a rude awakening. Yeah, I think Psychedelic Squid is having a bad trip. Or maybe he is the bad trip. Psychedelic Squid knows his drugs. What's that you say, Tiger? You wanna be WARPED INTO THE MINUS WORLD???

9
I have lived a full life,
Even though I remember little of it.