Bantering with Octagons

[freescorfr]

Russian roulette, only one slug. Gulp it down
You've won. No more worries.

 

[tortoise]

in the colosseum, so hungry for more
so caveat diem, but carpe emptor
we don't need no water, why do witches turn?
lions to the slaughter, no which way to burn

your roulette is Swedish, your poker's Russian
revenge is a sweet dish, grapes for the crushing
paradise camouflage, myopic delight
portrait in decoupage, magenta twilight

 

[freescorfr]

Magenta, vermillion, Rose madder
Claretians imbibing altar breads
Mass spectrometers carbon date
turin shroud disintegrate
Taylor's Theorem docks in Port:
Sandemann expires.

 

[cymbidia]

Sometimes
Roses are red.
Red sometimes, that is, but sometimes blushing pink and sweet and tart like the dreams we dream just before awakening, still flushed with the innocent arousal of uncensored unconscious unlikely contortions of flesh on flesh in flesh, thrusting ungently between lips.
Lips are red.
Sometimes.

 

[tortoise]

ungentle unguent
the well has run dry
punctual pundit
you may as well try
to pick up the pieces
the bind that releases
the loose ties that blind

butterflies bludgeon
the howling wind blows
crafty curmudgeon
I'd rather not show
you all my trick sleeves
cuz soon as this prick leaves
another one shows

sandpaper sanguine
whatever you say
pernicious penguin
who are you today?
a voluble valiant
displaying a talent
for rolling in hay?

 

[Dillinger]

Bell's theorum is neither red nor blue but light is... even when its not Larry Bud Weiser Mellman. And, please allow me to point out, butterflies have never been free. Born, never asked.

 

[cymbidia]

Freedom is an illusion like the crack of jackboots or the rolling peal of thunderous hooves as they fly across the fruited plain, plainly aiming for the exact center of my bleeding heart. Liberals. Geeze. Another vanishing species on the downside of the bellcurve of existence.

 

[RainbowBright]

Oh! Ige tit! Your'ea ll speickng notsense. Cani Play?

 

[sigh]

play is anesthesia for the young
let not the little unlearn this art
and may the old relearn it

bootheels on cobbles, clacking loudly as they march
bayonets bristle
cakes fall in the oven
lace blackens prettily

 

[Dillinger]

The line of perspective vanishes in a lazy cake of desire. Art for art's sake. Love for Love's sake. Art Garfunkel for Courtney Love's sake.

 

[cymbidia]

Hello darkness my old friend, Art sang, and never knew that desire like dust in the wind glittered across the sweaty dreams of the lonely hearts club band.

 

[Dillinger]

Lonely hearts club band on the running on empty. Darkness is my old friend of the devil. And the devil made me do you.

 

[cymbidia]

The devil went down to Georgia to hear some funky Dixieland and get the best of your love in the white room.

 

[Dillinger]

Hell yeah. I used to live in a white room with a view to kill. Thing is, when there I always had Georgia on my mind.

Hey there, Georgy girl...

Girls. Damn... I like me them girls.

 

[sigh]

georgy girl and the tambourine man shacking up with the white rabbit...one pill makes them larger

and the red queen's off her head

 

[Dillinger]

Head... you said head! Heh heh heaven's on my mind games people play. Alice might still live here, I better check under the stairs.

 

[tortoise]

the devil is in the idle hands
details and playthings
nuance and shadings
the interweaving of vital strands
trimming and pruning
microfine tuning
ah but never stop the spiral sands
spinning and whirling
wisping and swirling
free movement creates the ideal dance

 

[sigh]

you can get anything you want at alice's restauant......exceptin alice...

too bad, cause alice was what i wanted

ridin on the city of new orleans from chicago to carbondale...only the old folks go farther than that...unless it's mardi gras time

you like head? huh? you like head? everybody likes head...hehehe...mumble mumble...gimme shelter, gimme head...hehehe

 

[freescorfr]

Dancing in quicktime and foxtrots and tangos
Waltzing through minefields, the patriots wail
They conjugate maidens and impregnate pylons
While whistling a pibroch
While wishing the tale.

 

[cymbidia]

At seventeen i learned that the stairway to heaven would help me cross an ocean for a heart of gold, and though the heat was hot and the ground was dry, the air was full of sound.

 

[tortoise]

I don't want a pickle
I just want to ride in a mo-tor-cade
A scythe or a sickle
Are the fine tools of my stock and trade

 

[freescorfr]

The heat was hot the ground was dry
the air was full of sound,
The partridge ate the parmezan
The daughter downed tamazepan
The Mayor was crowned in marzepan
We ended up in the tinkle can.

 

[tortoise]

when the ground is soft for digging
and the fates misplace their looms
there's no foghorn that is loud enough
to call the cow back from the moon

 

[Black_Bird]

Loud enough? I've got two hearing aids turned to 'brain hemorrhage' (That's 11 for you Spinal Tap fans) and I still can't hear a word you're saying. Its like a book reading a shotglass, but not quite. Quiet, Quiet, the etching away of my soul that was too much stone for this stoner anyway.

 

[Dhalgren]

Andy Warhol looks a scream Hang him on my wall
And the old man smiled as the vein swelled and the blood came..
23 days and 23 hours of the day
The sound surrounds the icy waters..Underground.
Can the world be as sad as it seems?
And if Epiphany's terror reduced you to shame
Choose a side to be on..