knownames

When i was a little boy i used to lick the street spanked the orange light pole and cursed the broccoli that wouldn't eat melons and cats can fit into planes yet, still they charge us to eat them yellow eyes are the windows to the stars all mom's give birth to tamale stems hot sauce only comes in two flavors and reception only gets two bars mindlessly chasing dogs that honk with their little mitten-ed puppy paws stop looking at my breasts you can hold them but please don't inhale draw a mouse next to the doorway and my bride will shit a Vail. Trigger my heart and mind to lie upon the sand and careful not to burn the tongue

(english translation below) Elle me disait « L'amour n'a pas de frontières » En lisant Verlaine Vrai. Pourquoi donc des frontières Quand ses bras fermés suffisent Frantz, 03 février 2012 ....................................................................... She told me "Love knows no borders" Reading Verlaine True. Why have borders When her folded arms suffice Frantz, February 3, 2012

I did not descend to rise again. The nature of flesh is to fail, and so, I sail off the edge. Down the rivers of forgetfulness and eternal sleep, no Thesean thread to mark my path, for I am not returning. I tread the darkness, listening with discerning ears for every turn. The brimstone and sulfur burns my eyes and nostrils and I hear, clearly, the screams of the damned, and the muttered threats of Hades himself. Plato himself called my prototype a coward, and there is no fear in my quest, to test the very definitions of life, of wife, and immortality.  I will sing a song that will echo to the stars from the deepest pit of

Of blackest night and shadowed dreams, Under the watchful eye of moon, The world tears apart at the seams, And everywhere, pieces are strewn. Desperate, I try so hard, To fix was has been left for me. Born of chaos, still so scarred, I search for something that cannot be. Each one of them is a part of me, The blame, the death, even the doom. Surely not only I can see,   While some have died, others still bloom. Not all I create is born of fear. What about dreams, or soothing sleep? For those poor souls, I shed a tear, And for my own, I can only weep.

your hands feathered the tip of my chin and your eyes they shone like stars in the midnight sky as your lips with a touch of grace brushed against mine. teardrops pearled on my skin and I felt comfort seep into my bruises as nostalgia basked my bones your embrace carried me to the moon until we became as ethereal as our dreams: like stardust. "Lights will guide you home..." I will try to fix myself.

I shall take your plaid, my dear, Down to sovereign river's flood And wash away the sweat and tears Of life. I'll wash away the blood From warp and weave. Under blood red skies, I hear the sighs And laughter shuttled in the loom For you by Fates. Across my thighs This checkered cloth, both lives and doom - Your transmigration. Each thread, bright dyed or drabbest dull Supported makes the weft for other - Fabric of natural weave, full Richness, wound on loom of Mother All life's dynamic tension. I'll lift my voice to keen your name, I'll wail of loves, of triumphs and shame, For life gone by I'll cry in mourning Yet my wai

In the fashionless land of the horrid McSnee, the stones cut like diamonds, men hang from the trees While their bones are exposed by nine eyed, sixteen winged, amphibious, flesh eating bees. The McSnee are quite ruthless, their rule absolute, their evil deeds matching their evil repute. Those who write love songs have their hands nailed to their ears, and, while billy goats chew on their blasphemous beards, Philosophers are staked to the ground by their pubes. Into this land limped a pilgrim of sorts, a meek dirty traveler, to hear the reports. He shared flesh at their tables; he mucked out their stalls; he sang songs of blood eagles in