there is no content

There is Such altruistic content
concentrate from the fountain
dont waste it
i hear consecrated terminal function
separation by the tunnel
pause plausable discernable destiny
oh my legs have become cold fog
the chill of my san f-francisco cellar
everything backwards ?
crazy in its all glory
withering en masse
as a child tinkers
there it is my friend. the syncopation
Rythmn and turbulent affairs of
man vocodered as we transmute
the day in chord or chorus
special, the alien calls
the alarm calls witin ourselves
we are all aliens. cheaply made
from plastic ware
running in the shadow for the
damned prophet. synch synch
tap tap tap bum bum bum dee dee
dee the scribbling of my pen cant
keep up with the ultimate Joy the
Rhh Rhy Rhy Ruby rhythmn breaks into
the open is it the word is it
the will the children follow
me out at night. shunt calliope
troupe. disdain Fire.
Angry Angry the terms that
have emerged are troubling it
best troubling at worst and
the whole aspirating thinkable
at the dawns as if to say Godhead
God head Athiest trumpet Gabriel
trumpet manifesto. Everyone
securities the secret nevermind
so in love with you
Its all alone
     all alone
as it cant jam the chorus
cachophony cachophony the blaring
hurting in my calmness terrifying
I hunt my god the beautiful
but how can I flex the page
is so godamn gorgeous/. Butterflies there
is a pause and there it is again
think calming rising spiraling up up up
beat best bad and the day cant contrast
it the night cant contain it. the
millenium cant contain it I
am the Godhead that you
must listen to the I am
I am I am I am I am
and the queens chorus still outlasted
the band.
In exile. I sit and write to you
sweet penelope. of the Triumph
seen in my time. How my
info my fortune and my
countrymen have forsaken me
its opus opined against
the magnificent streaming beauty
of your peril enthralled I know
this isnt coming into being for
Gods sakes the last words of
the flickering candle as I
continuing never coming together
can it be deciphered. baby, iím
not here, under the mantle of myth
the celestial effervesance of kind
and troubled struggling dawn.






e-mail the poet at stever@skysound.com
info on the writer
to go back to the home page