The Smile of the Unvanquished

Scum sometimes I am so damned emotional and angered, playing at first things down by quirky humour, dry and absurdist at the same time, and behaving like a dour hard nut, but then I refuse to accept their iniquity and almost drown in the foaming drool of my madness, stirring my blood, straining my veins, flexing my liquified muscles to fight, lucidly knowing that my crusade will be as successful as any exploit by Don Quichotte, the reckoning of the heroicWehrmacht at the Eastern Front, the pleading death-rattle of an emphysemic old geezer, a baby's smile before it pleases the Lord Jehova to take its cadavre to heaven. I lurch into passion's intoxication, wielding stiff and rigid the teeming hatred of my ancient soul to crush the vermins of this world out of existence, with a pain and grief beyond forgiveness, with the horror and blood leaking from my cavities, the venom of my spit, the frost of my esmerald predatory eyes, so drunk to relish the hate, the hate for all these fuck

The Song of the Astral Oarsman   Beyond the moon, beyond the stars, floats my raft across piebald nebulae drawn farther along by my prowess earned through sweat and blood and the dyspnoeal winds coughed up by a brooding vermillion star, conjunct forces of unlikely associates, but as miasmic woes cut into whispering moans, excaltation swirls in sultry approbation of abomination, spit, semen and blood fizz with life, infectious ectoplasma rampant for a greed that trades the sequence of birth to death berth in a mirroring dialecticism, and reverse it again, to branch off  measured yet unbound, unfolding the canopy of our polypious perseity, so am I aware that my journey will harvest many tributes, awe minds, inspire hearts and bolster spirits, whilst my name will only sow frowns and torpor among many others, long after I signed off  as my own archetype and my dust lay slumbering on celestial bodies... But now my attention is steeply pitched to this black invitation! I rake decidedly into