deepundergroundpoetry.com
Deities Daydream Devilish
The cranium reports facts and figures, waxes and jiggers, wanes like liquor and sin untethered to spin like weather vanes in hurricane winds. A flurry of flow, blurry like the veins in a Kennedy’s nose, I hurry and slow to explain the subtext buried within, just to spare you the cringe. My investment in Pun..... ……...ishment’s testament.
No strain to retort, my brain blurts quips like Short Circuit, all wired to rain a berserker circus of pain. Burn away rage by turning a phrase. I desire to keep it playful but aspire to slay full like a geyser from champagne uncorked. I get higher and unrestrained in my sport.
Cursing what grows from me, bursting to flow free. Thirsting like crows perching on heads lurching to be slurping, opening eyes of heretics hanging from trees. Dispersing the prose so the uncertain can see.
This self-empowered tower of might is self-willing, self-building. Wish for stealth and a shower of delight helps for bright visions spilling. For all my grace one day I’ll lose this race and demons will take my place and be the villains running the missions. This one spied the night’s blessed decision. The sun cried white jets of shame from the flame in frets I’m spitting.
My mind is far past right gunning to slice in every sleight. Set for crime I snap and fight for fun. My rhymes are wrapped up tight like nuns tied up right in wet linens. Quicker sisters vast enrapt in scat and chat, laughs and gasps, some decided to ride the night set for sinning. Blessed wives of God, no distressed lives to rob, but it’s best to revolve hips and visions.
Tips to kiss hidden, with those absolved to keep all sexual bliss within. A mission to be unbidden and evolve deep past the extra Folds of their hymns and working acts of church traps, lurching fast through the gaps. To solve the tragic knowledge only God was supposed to know, resolve and heal so the world sees for real the salve only outlaws grow.
Prometheus had clout to blow, equalizing the show. To see so vast and bring the beat back indiscrete tracks to learn what the first thief stole. Discern the thirst for fire and belief in a soul? Earn a burst to destroy liars who provide relief at a toll? Oh yeah, the decision to get past religion as the opiate blast of the derision of the masses.
Cursing what grows from me, bursting to flow free. Thirsting like crows perching on heads lurching to be slurping, opening eyes of heretics hanging from trees. Dispersing the prose so the uncertain can see.
Slack time, backrhyme, Prometheus needed to beseech and equalize each on the lower rungs to show what he slung was equality in rules, tools and prolly tongue. Excluding mine, excusing time, using this backrhyme to bring heat down to the feet and up in layers for every gasping nun wrapped in sheets and prayers. Every page was a kaleidoscope of prose, not hiding under your nose but blowing a flow like Krakatoa. Some are set to invite derision when sex is called sinning and one might divide such kept women.
Cursing what grows from me, bursting to flow free. Thirsting like crows perching on heads lurching to be slurping, opening eyes of heretics hanging from trees. Dispersing the prose so the uncertain can see.
No strain to retort, my brain blurts quips like Short Circuit, all wired to rain a berserker circus of pain. Burn away rage by turning a phrase. I desire to keep it playful but aspire to slay full like a geyser from champagne uncorked. I get higher and unrestrained in my sport.
Cursing what grows from me, bursting to flow free. Thirsting like crows perching on heads lurching to be slurping, opening eyes of heretics hanging from trees. Dispersing the prose so the uncertain can see.
This self-empowered tower of might is self-willing, self-building. Wish for stealth and a shower of delight helps for bright visions spilling. For all my grace one day I’ll lose this race and demons will take my place and be the villains running the missions. This one spied the night’s blessed decision. The sun cried white jets of shame from the flame in frets I’m spitting.
My mind is far past right gunning to slice in every sleight. Set for crime I snap and fight for fun. My rhymes are wrapped up tight like nuns tied up right in wet linens. Quicker sisters vast enrapt in scat and chat, laughs and gasps, some decided to ride the night set for sinning. Blessed wives of God, no distressed lives to rob, but it’s best to revolve hips and visions.
Tips to kiss hidden, with those absolved to keep all sexual bliss within. A mission to be unbidden and evolve deep past the extra Folds of their hymns and working acts of church traps, lurching fast through the gaps. To solve the tragic knowledge only God was supposed to know, resolve and heal so the world sees for real the salve only outlaws grow.
Prometheus had clout to blow, equalizing the show. To see so vast and bring the beat back indiscrete tracks to learn what the first thief stole. Discern the thirst for fire and belief in a soul? Earn a burst to destroy liars who provide relief at a toll? Oh yeah, the decision to get past religion as the opiate blast of the derision of the masses.
Cursing what grows from me, bursting to flow free. Thirsting like crows perching on heads lurching to be slurping, opening eyes of heretics hanging from trees. Dispersing the prose so the uncertain can see.
Slack time, backrhyme, Prometheus needed to beseech and equalize each on the lower rungs to show what he slung was equality in rules, tools and prolly tongue. Excluding mine, excusing time, using this backrhyme to bring heat down to the feet and up in layers for every gasping nun wrapped in sheets and prayers. Every page was a kaleidoscope of prose, not hiding under your nose but blowing a flow like Krakatoa. Some are set to invite derision when sex is called sinning and one might divide such kept women.
Cursing what grows from me, bursting to flow free. Thirsting like crows perching on heads lurching to be slurping, opening eyes of heretics hanging from trees. Dispersing the prose so the uncertain can see.
Published 23rd Jul 2012
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