orgasmos, blasfêmias e cartas de suicídio

those who with their fist smash, if needed be, may amuse. the same hands that almost choke, when it suits, also give pleasure. who with a whisper allures, if there's change of plans, detaches. who in a quiet mood comforts, with equal calm, could destroy.

to be a man is really a hard load job. Ulysses, see: some men prefer be pork. the pasture is what do lead to real delight. "being happy is far better than being right!" they smile with their gut full and their nut void. so many already are pigs although they stand. they prove the mud and never expect the pan. Ulysses, see: some men prefer be pork. to be a man is really a hard load job.

don't fool yourself: this peace won't last. accept those worms as long as it delays contest. every treaty is but a trap. look out their sheet for any bells. excuse don't give for us being killed. if this be in need, extend your hand. and force a grin. always sail low, and wait the wind. a dagger close. your will? no hint. bove all we tell: don't ever rest. don't fool yourself: this peace won't last.

[horror] tonight (black rag to no dish) mildewed lilies in a convulsive yellow beget blowflies. over Baghdad they flow, those unruffled crows. we all have deaf eyes. but - here's a secret - these verses don't leave us less wicked.

[accountancy] black sun in the streets. in rags drag themselves  the shards of this scene. the city indicts the heavens with its dark glass pinkies. my feverish daemon, in a skeletal squeeze, sticks  such shrapnel in my bleed: .......................pulsating worms in the dreams .......................of every reticent being .......................crave: "killing!". .......................so the knife in their eyes .......................and napalm in their speech. .......................so the plaques those moms cradle .......................or the moan to kids breached .......................while in their mud thrones frigid  .......................graphs are governing these  .......................macabre machineries! my silence smells like shredded babies. metaphysical caress: my reefer necropsies me.