Bantering with Octagons

Possible futures emanate from this moment as does the breathing of dragons at stop signs: magically. Without sound. In the blink of a misty-eyed and sleepy-browed child's mind, whatever will be, will be.
 
Que sera

Ne parles francais maintenant.

So now we converse in english, over the miles, smiles and whiles.
 
Conversation is often less about words and more about intentions because intentions are ever more slippery, ever less tangible, and damn incredibly implausible at times, too. You know it's true. Truth shines like a beacon from every single fraction of a word i toss out into the slipstream, que sera sera, notwithstanding.
 
Distilling fraction on the Breacon Beacons, has quarter the joy for sheep, as downing doubles in Cardiff has for Taffy Thomas,the auto-gravedigger. All roads from Wales plead good intentions of leading out rather than in. The emblem of the Country is either a dragon or a leek. It's a small place for leaks.
 
Myrddyn Emrys comes from his Crystal Cave, shaking off a millennium and one-half of accumulated dust... Looking around at Carmarthen Town, he shrugs, winks, smiles in his own quiet way, and goes back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that his progeny are safe - their own small, quiet individual efforts have kept the Dream alive. We are the Dreamers - the sea that separates us doesn't exist.
 
Dreaming dizzy-flying whirling thoughts about sun yellow balloons on the green grass of high summer, grass so caught up in the struggle to flower and reproduce before next weekend's date with the mower that one can almost watch it grow if one is quiet enough.
 
You can watch mine grow by touching, kissing or even a look. It used to grow on buses and standing up to get off was not the getting off it wanted. In church the elevation of the host was often accompanied by its own elevation, especailly if Anne Harvey was in an adjacent pew. "Self-abuse" 69 times last week, Father.
So much common innuendo on the lawn. Why can't we say outright, plainly, unashamedly that we believe in Social Darwinism with repect to weeds and anticipate with glee the holocaust of dandelions and clover?
Sheep can be eaten and roast wheel of lawnmower in mint sauce is caviar to the Simpsons.
 
the growth of holocaust begins with the roasting of lambs
while the lawn spreads gracefully
watered with the menstrual blood of virgins

my demons came 'round the other day
all together like some choir from hell
to say hey sigh,
where you been?
ain't seen you lately
you gone and got sane on us?


so for their sake i drooled and spit a bit
then had a glass of iced tea 'cause it was so damned hot
or maybe it was the demons
they make me sweat, you know
 
Thats the last thing that does make you sweat you know.
I'd rather think of a sigh as a spirit tickler of unknown dimensions, wherever it may be, and may god only find it out.
 
tickled spirit
soul flying high
happy dances
slow winding roads
soft breezes
cool nights
soft shining moon
wine on the balcony
sitting next to you
 
It continues, it survives, it lives, it is, it was, it shall be!

Spirited virgins smoke weed while dancing in the Crystal Cave with the lawnmower demons. This is not a dream. Its more like a white chocolate conversation. Dangle that!
 
weeds smoking fire from internal flares of genius
sprout words incarnate
words unending
words in a stream that never ends

jabber jabber
endlessly
so deafening i just want to slap them down
slap them out
then drown them
in a ocean of ejaculate

my ejaculate
my dripping shudders
my dance upon the graves of our foremothers
 
I dance upon the graves of my foremothers in the moonlight
The sun shining down, upon my head, turning the sunlight to darkness. The moon light burns my skin. I love the feel of the breeze lifting my hair, tossing my clothing against my skin. It is so hot, and so cold, I shiver and I'm warmed.
 
Ejaculation dances under the deep dark moonlight swirl and twirl in breezes of sea mist and loving rain.

These are the days my friends. Or maybe those were the days. Or perhaps the days are yet to come. Maybe its all just a daze.
 
"How much for that one there?"

"Oh, that'll cost ya sonny."

"Yeah, how much?"

"Hmm, been in the family a long time. Money don't really do it for me these days."

"So you're not getting rid of it?"

"Didn't say that. What have you got to trade?"

"Trade?" *sigh*

"Yeah sunny. This one's got emotional value. I want something that has value to you for it."

"Never mind. I'll buy a new one."




I do not barter with octogenarians.
 
octagenarian octagonians
will we really last so long?
crinkled skin and arthritic joints
keyboards wired to our thoughts sending
holo projections of ourselves of sixty years before

looking for a cyber lay
wondering if we'll ever orgasm again
winking at the world
while picking strained lunch tidbits from yellowed teeth

the one-armed snag
is such a lovely girl
don't you think?
 
The value of a lovely lay
On a nice and sunny day
Has no more value than
Doing it in the rain again

Damn it all - poetry again. Will I never learn? Will I lever yearn? Its fine to eat a banana but the damn peach is much too evasive.
 
Why are peaches always considered evasive? They just get a bad wrap, now apples are the evasive ones. They can never make up their minds as to rather or not to show their true core. They taunt and they tease but they never grown trees.
 
evasive apple in the hand of eve
she bites while adam wails
and god rears his jealous head and says
knowledge if for me alone, you peckerheads!

or something like that
it's in the bible
so it must be true


i just talked to one i love
one i see too little of
i'd give nearly anthing,
you know
to touch her
just once
 
Wysteria grows on the vine
Hysteria makes it mine
I just sit and pine
Drink my bitter wine
Why not I say
Ciders finished today
The apples rotted
 
The apples rotted on the ground
Where they lay in a great big mound
With rhyming I am done, where ever there are rhymes there are no more consious thoughts. The landscape echos through my brain, dating me, showing me scenes I would never want to forget and always deny. Ever wondered about dancing lizards? I have! Why do they dance when they can't even walk?
 
I watched The last dance.
Dancing to the end of love.

I sigh, sighlently
Sigh.

About a boy.
 
People are strange
When you are strange
Insanity rules the roost
Love gives me a boost
Helps me through the day
I, on planet earth, stay

Yes I do
 
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