MAGRONOPUSS DANDY or Magnifican't Make.c/s

2YK represents Sound Amalgam.

A reliable way to Shake Cages.

Built out of Dungeons of Aegis Aim.

To be A Hero is to be a Name.

Let nothing of Madness Unwrite You

As it Unreels itself in our Eyes.

It uses the Pupils to stare at Demise.

Just like A Cartel rapes angel's Urns.

Fancy that better than Shakespeare or Purge?

Why dismiss with Surplus of Opulence?

Invent Violence of Dolor a Billion

Set Cuckolds to bear the Vengeance of Scourge.

I get it now I get it now C - K

You Know what I don't Magnificent Magnate.

ETERNAL TEN of 14

If you follow what happens 1 through 10.

You do nothing but that for a decade.

Write in pentameter speak that way

Nothing anybody says can contend.

For 10 times Love is better than None.

Even a flower petal has Bobbins.

That Thread upon become a Craft's Design.

Without William Shakespeare what would England

Know about Love but that Love is a Truth.

I full realization of Love's Power.

Can be counted by the Ten Commandments.

Or they can be Sinned Against Forgiven.

But back to the Tens and to Love's Sonnets.

They have Not nor Never Will they Finish.

SWEETHEARTED VERSE

I do lose much of my smile when my fingers take wind.

They fly like a team of a thousand horses.

They travel the mountains through atomic views.

A Granule of Life is a Treasured Chest.

It upholds the Sky within Reach Sudden.

Come to my Muses but slowly dismount.

I want to catch each and every Detail.

Painting them Flower Eternal Graff.

What I write remains while I vanish, Yes,

As you, my sincere friends, are my Masters.

You merely Exist with All Innocence.

No mask that was needed was Sent for, Earth,

A Spirit of Beauty is No Doubt your Truth.

It emanates from the Love of my Tribe.

All the Persons Who hold forth a Smile

Crime and Punishment. The Misuse of Marx's Misuse

First you cannot cross Marx with Mao, OMG>

I don't even read History yet Know.

Sputter sputter stammer the colorless King.

He says, "God is Dead," then takes his Cover.

As if a Man could be Moral Alone.

Then there are the Marxists who scribe Better?

The ones who Read Marx and spare us, Treasure!

I'd rather read Plato's Octavio Paz

Than spend another eternity in Chaos.

For such Philosophers who can't Love

Nor could ever get any Action

That didn't run games for my Oppressors.

It's one Thing to Make up Poetic Verse

To admit that it's all made of Nonsense

Than to Sit on a Mighty Dead Stalion.

Beating it Beating it like the Russians

In Doestoevsky's greates Masterpiece

EATEN OF EDEN

I am my Derridean fate, Edith.

I cannot write at all I only Edit.

It is what makes me most like a Machine.

I was born without a Brain Processor.

I only Uptake Data hardly Words.

I hear "subject" "accent" "vowel" and "tone"

A formula for Hearing without Hearing.

That has nothing to do with Hearing.

How? How so? Who? Who Knows? I'm Total.

I only know Absolute True Knowledge.

Everything I write has its Foreknowledge.

Its Caxton-hearted Hand Made Font and Well.

I have lost the power against Language.

I fought I struggled but it Engulfed Me

PURE ART WITHOUT LIMIT'S

Soundless in its intimate everness

which is without vision of purity

a neuropoetic device of sound

encompasses the moon inside your eyes.

more like a Dove than receptacle,

I am the bird of imagination

caught between the hours of a vision

nothing more or less than anything else

the ingredient American verse

which has never known another as this

the writing on the wall is a cloud breath

filled with the details a symphony

making music itself world of spirit

and for art for art's sake without limit.

A Poem is a Science of Love's Wealth

A Poem is a Science of Love's wealth

it is not insensate as of science

yet it appears far worse for some reason

still everyone is a poet themselves.

There's no escaping the fate of its tongue.

It lives inside of the self in society.

It reaches every corpuscle of time

Then it seeks to find the answers and again,

"Who am I? How did I arrive at Love?"

--Where do I get off of Desire's Pain?

Of its culminating power to Bend

Toward that only journey from its Scenes.

If not for all The Beauty entailed,

it would become simply an Equation