“Can I sit with you?“
Her front teeth were missing
But it only made her
More beautiful
Like the damaged statue of a Goddess
Who had survived the abuse of time and Hun invaders

Pharmaceutical lobotomies bind the truth seers tongue
The feral barking of wild dogs
The only poetry left

“Will you love me?“
She asked
As she lay down to die

Fire is no longer Fire
but
Exhalations of God’s contempt
Leaving behind blacked pillars
and marred beauty
Damaged dreams

“Will you smile for me?“
She asked

Blood seeped from her eyes
Her mouth
She paints herself
I silently scream
In the red of Novas
Passion stains her pale skin

Empty chairs …empty thrones… empty words…
Street Dogs look at me with knowing eyes…
They howl a wild song
Echoing through the stars
They blacken the darkness
Give birth to an old truth

“You must love me else I die alone”

Tears are not soft pillows upon which to rest
They are acetic and burn like Greek fire

What was I to do?
She became liquid in my arms
I could sip her from a straw
Taste her essence
Anoint myself
In her bloody water of truth

I sought nightmares
To shade
What she had become

Yet
She boiled away
and was no more

Her vapor painted the room
And I walked alone
Into the night

As many of my avid and often rabid readers know I am an “ist” meaning, of course, I am anything ending in “Ist”. Allow me to don my Sociologist cap and explore today’s topic. Children.

Let’s jump to it, okay? I fucking hate kids! There I said it. I can hear the entire conglomeration of Women’s group’s vibrators dropping to the floor in one large thud. Kids are the sacred cows in our society, no one really cares about them, but Women’s groups use them like Theseus used the Gorgon’s head to slay the Kraken. Yea, the bitches use them to gain economic advantage, to wit, child support, housing privileges, welfare payouts, free medical care… The list is endless.
Having supplied man jism to women’s virginas on numerous occasions I have manufactured at least two of the little douche bags. Both my kids are bright, flawed and Psychotic, kind of like their father. Let’s examine my biological constructs:

Christopher Leo Mount: That little fucker owes me at least $40,000.00. Stole my car, money, basically anything he could get his hands on. I really fucking hate him but I must admit to having a grudging respect for him. He is a thief of biblical proportions. The fucker makes Al Capone look like a bully stealing schoolyard nickels. He routinely uses stolen social security numbers to generate credit cards. The fucker actually ran his own employment service at his last job, no shit; the trouble was the company didn’t know about it, yea, he was charging people to work there. Chris has balls the size of Jupiter.

Edward A Mount: My namesake. What a mistake he was, Eddie is a walking advertisement for condom use. However, he scares the shit out of me, no lie. I’m still paying child support for him and he is 75 years old. As a child I became concerned when he would bring home dead and mutilated animals. I remember saying,

“Now Eddie it’s really not appropriate to tear the legs off hamsters and watch them run around in circles.”
“Why not daddy?”
Well he had me there.

He actually recreated the crucifixion of Jesus using Gerbils, Hamsters, and the neighbor’s pet dachshund who had the misfortune of playing Jesus. I found the poor little pooch nailed to a makeshift cross with Gerbils and Hamsters playing Roman soldiers. I’ll never forget the look in the dachshund’s eyes just before he was speared by overzealous Gerbils; it was like, “Yo, do something about your kid will ya!”

Admittedly I should have institutionalized him but I figured as long as he was killing animals I was somewhat safe while sleeping. Yes, I am selfish.

Now, what can we do with our kids? Here is a little factoid for you parents out there. Despite taking them to Church, Soccer, Boy Scouts and the plethora of children activities your kids have a 3% chance of turning out somewhat decent. And those idiot parents out there who think their kid is going to be the next Linus Pauling kill yourself will ya. The statistics are in and your kid has a 97% probability of being a douche bag.

So what do we do with them?
1. Eliminate Child Labor laws. The gooks have the right idea put them to work in factories. They don’t eat much and if they give you any lip you can easily kick the shit out of them. And if they die? Who cares, fuck and have another, they are easily replaced, a build in replenishing natural resource. Why we haven’t done this already is a mystery to me.
2. Why we put good men, who should be in bars drinking and getting shitfaced, into mines is a crime. Let’s use the kids to do all our mining operations. They are small, agile and have a better chance of crawling out of cave-ins. And if they die? See above.
3. This one is for the sporting enthusiasts out there. Let’s hunt them. What hunter can resist the idea of hunting a four year old girl in the woods? Imagine the thrill of your 30 odd six with a crying, babbling little child in your sights? You know you fuckers should be paying me for this!
4. Let’s farm them for body parts. If you get sick go to the kid farm and use one their organs for any requirement.
5. If all else fails let’s eat the little fuckers, we have starving men and women who don’t realize they have perfectly edible food in their homes.

Well there you have it; once again I have cut through the manure of Political correctness, and solved another sociological problem. I bid you all adieu; I must take my leave as I have volunteered to babysit the neighbor’s kid

“Oh Timmy… I have a surprise for you…”

Professor Odd Poet

(The above is an excerpt from a scholarly Tome submitted to the New England Journal of Sociological Research)

The court room was bright and hot
Lit by the fire of revulsion
Heated by the passion of hatred

The two judges’ left and right testicle
Sat aloof, condescending
As they gazed at the gathering of pricks

The prosecutor stood erect, engorged, stiff and unyielding
He approached the accused
“Speak your name penis!”
The accused by contrast was small, withered, and flaccid
When he looked up there was a calm dignity in his tiny penis eyes
“I am the loving penis”

The court room erupted in stiff penisatic rage
“Your honors his very words condemn him!”
The prick turned to the loving penis
“You are anathema, you defy our very nature”
Your job is to perform and shoot your seed”
“Love is alien to our kind”
The pricks cheered at the prick’s accusations
The two testicles banged their gavels for order
“His words condemn him the sentence is castration”
“But he has the right to speak his last words”

“The loving penis spoke, though gentle and soft spoken his words boomed across the court room
“I can not change my nature; I can not perform without love, caring, sharing or passion.”
“I am part of a complex whole; I cement the bond of love between Man and Woman”
“It is through me Man and Woman become whole, one, divine, they become part of the eternal.”

The judges knew they could no longer hold back the prick’s rage
The loving penis tiny head was placed upon the castration guillotine
And as the blade of death began its downward descent
The loving penis looked up and spoke his last words

“I rather die for love then live for pleasure”

As his flaccid head rolled across the floor most of the pricks laughed
But a few looked confused, thoughtful
The court room cleared
And the story ends.

While God’s malformed Hell hounds
suck pungent nectar from barbed plants

Yet she sings
With arms raised her words do battle
Flashing argent against the coal black sky
Coruscating and relentless
Blazing and incorruptible

While God’s demons devour
Soul charms and innocence.

Her ship voyages dangerous seas
Sailing amidst heart’s cost and pregnant tears
Her verse a nimbus
Freeing dreams to roam where they will

While God seeds blackened crops
And broken wills

Casting runes like wizard spells
Enchantments that climb rainbows
With vines of creation healing broken souls

While God’s wraiths
Sow tears among the fallen

She sails on rivers of blood
Aboard screaming ships
Silhouetted by doomsday words
And flashlight dreams

A Treasured gift she is
Hiding beneath coarse blankets
And vulgar tongues
“Who can sing her beauty?”

The Gem that shines amidst cheap trinkets
Making Angels bow and Devils cry
Madmen and Saints know her well
They paint her name across the sky
“Beauty is her name”

The world pauses when she speaks
Gods bow and heartbeats still
The seeds of this world…
Await her smile…

“Beauty is her name”

And Clint died

The clock nods
And says
“Just to remind ya dude“
Another year lays parcels
Into my pack

Oh the weight

But what of Love?
Cheap and tawdry
A bar stool whore
Eying advantage
Plundering
A Viking raping with guttural screams
The Poet can sing of it
I had my fill of it

And Clint died

Memories set the table of dreams
Preparing a feast
Begging for party favors
Dressed in Sunday finery
Hiding the thread worn elbows
And the yellowing white
Of faded innocence

No one will show
I never do
And memory will shed tears
And slowly fade
Dissolve
Dispersed into the wind tunnel of time’s inexorable march
Towards…
Something…
Some place…
Its last words always

“But what of Love?”

I smile
Let the Poet sing its glory
I had my fill of it

Besides

Clint is dead

It no longer warms
Nor succors
Against the vagaries of this world
Threadbare
Worn
Patched

Your eyes
Lost their depth
Mere glass beads
Common place and dull
No longer will creation be birthed in them

Your soul lost its mystery
Gone are the many sojourns
Along mystical paths

Replaced by supermarket aisles
With jaded Hucksters hawking wares

Gone is the music
The symphonies, the Mozartic choir
The songbird’s celestial accompaniment
That always followed your dance
All I hear
Is a dissolute wind
Mourning
Cold
Desolate

I am left in this hollowed hall
As Winter’s chill envelops all
I am left with this Mantle
Threadbare
Worn
Patched

Female Bird get nailed by a repuplican driving a Ferrai. She is hurt

She is immobile

The male bird brings her food

This is pretty touching. She is lying there helpless and the male bird brings her a pizza with xtra pep

Now it gets a little sad so I’ll forgo the sarcasm or maybe not

She is dead yet it looks like he is trying to move her.

He seems upset

Here he looks really upset

Judge for yourself what’s going on here

I do not believe in imparting human emotions onto animal behavior, but lo can that be despair we see?

Resignation?

Okay is he bird sad? Where I got these pics the dude was all effusive over the love he says is demonstrated here. Well I have my journalist cap on and put the poet away, he is a real fag anyway, good riddance. Birds do not, can not feel love as defined by us, but maybe it is something deeper that would shame us all or maybe he flies away and looks for another mate. Forgetting she even existed, who can know the answer? I would love to interview the dude, as all my faithful readers know, I am fluent in several animal languages. You decide…

Beauty abused
Love unrequited

Her quill dipped in passion fire
Lilting
Setting the world in flames
Brighter than day
Darker than the silent moon

Paper can not contain her words
They cry and immolate
And ask why?

Blackened ash screams across the crying breeze
her words frothing on a beach of gravitational singularity

Painting forlorn beauty
The circle seeking completion with elusive Tangent.

Know!

I will be there
In the darkness of your night
When all is gone

Reason abandoned

The wind …

Will always whisper her name

SHE IS MINE!
HAVE I NOT LOVED HER? HAVE I NOT TAKEN HER ON DIONYSIUS’S ALTAR AND GIVEN HER PLEASURE IN WHICH SHE NOW STILL DREAMS?

SHALL I REPLAY BEFORE YOUR HAPLESS BEING THE GRUNTS AND GROANS OF OUR UNION?

THE LOVE WE SHARED?

THE SCREAMS OF PLEASURE AND DESIRE WE SATISFIED UPON OLYMPUS?
THE GODS SMILED.
AND WERE PLEASED!
APHRODITE HERSELF ANOINTED ME THAT DAY.

YOU ARE BUT A CHILD.
INCAPABLE OF UNLOCKING THE GIFTS SHE BRINGS.

ASK HER AND WATCH HER EYES.
YES, SEE THE TRUTH IN THEM AND WEEP.

WHY DO YOU SEEK THAT WHICH YOU CANNOT HAVE?

HEAVEN HAS ORDAINED THIS UNION.

IN MANY GUISES YOU MAY COME.
BUT DEFEAT IS YOUR DESTINY.

SHE SPEAKS TO ME NOW
DOTH THINE EARS PERK?
YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF HEARING, KNAVE!

YOUR PROTESTATIONS ARE THE BRAYING OF A MULE
GO TO PASTURE FOOL!
SEEK WHAT SUCCOR YOU CAN IN WHATEVER PURSUITS PLEASES THY DIM WIT.

SHE IS MINE!