Gord

2014-09-02 12:00 am

I transform retribution,
I collide with an enemy,
Destined for fusion,
Corroding my memory,
Crashing the computer,
That is me.

I open on pretense false,
In hopes to gain my loss,
Yet no fate goes uncrossed,
No face goes on unmarked,
No bullet grazes,
They self aim and kill marks.

In honesty,
I hope for their retribution,
Not believing what you do,
I find no institution for truth,
Investigations reveal soot.
To conceal boots under sock.
Truth should be implied,
Secrets shouldn't even be whispered,
When no secret knock is employed.

Among Imperials, two faces clash,
Destroying the child middle,
Purpose born was to protect class.
Among the tyrants, 
A sleeping dog,
His brother opposite,
A sleeping god, 
Purpose forlorn and meaning lost.
Shoot the gun across, regardless,
Trees grow from the river,
Implying a garden should exist.

Yet at the bottom I find no solace.
No mythical beast of which to conquer,
Nor mythical flower of to tame beasts.
So no feast among mythical followers.
Sewn feet no longer bother to move.
Brooms no longer even bother to sweep.

I see Cost front by the citizen,
Expected which are also to clean.
Past participle's partisan cuts so cleanly,
No partisan is left opposite to thee.
Clearly, No god laughs,
Sincerely, No god falters,
And no human shots cast,
Except into human carnage.

No gain for loss,
No pyrrhic victory,
Due course.
No force of sympathy,
homeopathy, anthropology,
from the horse.
No, mostly poor choices.
Voices ringing with phones dead.

No voices in his head,
Scream morality.
of course.
No soldier gains a victory.
sans cost.
None recognize the courage,
of Hailey's comet.
So the gunfire blazes onward.

Amongst the slain, are the slain.
Those who shoot have bullets same.
My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza,
Which I modify to fit in holster,
As exactly as I imagined her,
Far above a reasonable caliber.
For a man who lacks resources,
For as a woman he lacked chorus,
Pestilence amongst the formal courtships.

How do we create such a melody?
Such harmony of utter melancholy.
How do we classify such insanity?
Such discourtesy on our society.
Such, bullets access and exit quickly.
Thus is the mark of beasts.
Thus a heart no longer beats.

Almost lack of mention was lack of faith.
Remembered and forgotten to become same.
All lost the castles of old days,
Only sandcastles remain standing,
Reminder of temporary management,
Of how well that pays.

I depart to vent,
Find myself post-traumatic,
I start to mention,
Find myself post-dramatic,
I mark myself bent,
Find myself post dragging.
Hoping to move forward,
Forgetting that lost in battle.

I sigh,
I realize that's not possible.
I stand purportedly screaming peace,
Screaming bullets purportedly corpse.
I stand in face of uproarious force,
Screaming should-haves,
Scoring for would-have,
Who now will manage.

Tired, I cast aside,
Casting stones seems now juvenile.
Especially in a world this finite,
Who needs to choir for killing time?
Button press' jest as being less vile,
Truth as masked chide,
Who now will bandage?

Gord

2014-08-27 12:00 am

My hero lacks discourse, 
Decisions made lack loss.
My hero lacks mustard,
Dry bread lack lustre.
Meat tastes like horse.

Gord

2014-08-21 12:00 am

No gain for loss,
No pyrrhic victory,
Due course.
No force of sympathy,
homeopathy, anthropology,
from the horse.
No, mostly poor choices.
Voices ringing with phones dead.

No voices in his head,
Scream morality.
of course.
No soldier gains a victory.
sans cost.
None recognize the courage,
of Hailey's comet.
So the gunfire blazes onward.

Amongst the slain, are the slain.
Those who shoot have bullets same.
My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza,
Which I modify to fit in holster,
As exactly as I imagined her,
Far above a reasonable caliber.
For a man who lacks resources,
For as a woman he lacked chorus,
Pestilence amongst the formal courtships.

Gord

2014-04-18 12:00 am

Implying I stuff my bra like Maria.
Tiny tits propped to seem like Serena.

Aharon Yosef

2014-04-14 12:00 am

Vested in reality,
Blood of beasts and saints.
Destin blind with empathy,
Believing self divinely great.
And I suppose that's fine?
I mean, Hey;
What of judgements cast as mine?
Howbeit, 
What of judgements cast as they?
Pretending watch though eyes are blind.
Lay my head in shallow water,
Watch my face in clouds pass by.
Let me drown as hallowed fodder,
The message, 
Nearing.
The message,
Fie!
Simple timeless truths elude us.
Clouds in our heads,
Dreams in our skies.

The Sophist

2014-04-11 12:00 am

You stole my fucking stones,
And now I want them back,
I'm exhausted for no reason,
And I doubt,
I doubt your mind's on track.

Where are all your pyramids?
I've never seen a one,
I'm angry all damned season,
And I know,
I know you're still undone.

I'm damn tired for too damn long.
Millennia since pyramids,
Meager wage preventing treason,
And I believe,
I believe conspiracies in myriads.

To stand back and reflect,
Drowsy,
Erect,
Accomplished,
And now we are the Iliads.
Worthless,
Lacking respect,
All shit.

New hands smacking old elect,
Lousy,
Inept,
Unaccomplished,
Yet the common ride on chariots,
Horseless,
Acting intact,
Shit polished.

The Sophist

2014-04-06 12:00 am

Now I'm alone,
My plans fall through my hands,
My plans falter my plans,
Ditch-dogging philosophers,
Diurnal bemoan,
Unified spirit,
Plods as it tries,
Not to grovel and heave,
Unable to die,
Hand firmly on heart,
Swear tell not a lie,
Humankind curses nix,
Shant invention decry,
For those who know me,
Easy going guy,
Steed Spearhorse,
A nobody,
Unable to kill a man,
With no body.
Triangles illuminating,
Intercepting, dissecting,
Emanating, reflecting.
Nervously wrecked,
Fuck-up of the hoi polloi,
A boy torn from life,
Tearing back at the tears,
Falling drunken sufficed,
Your plans fall in your hands,
Your plans are your plans,
You fall alone,
Your all alone,
And I'm Alone,
To Die Alone.

Gord

2014-03-14 12:00 am

Such teeth, Such face,
Over the hills of red,
Ugly white horses run.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Windows

 I was still but a boy,
 When my people first started horsetrading,
 With the white man, Bill Gates;
 For livestock to be used on the cyber plains.

 Ninety Five was a poor breed,
 Made up of mixed bloodlines.
 Favoured by the white man.
 They know nothing of horse stock.

 Ninety Eight, though mixed with broken mustang;
 Were a bad breed, skittish, having to be hobbled often.

 ME were ponies that found much favour with the Pawnees, as pack-horses.
 They did not ride well.

 XP are better, their bloodlines come from the wild mustang herds,
 That frequent the vast plains.
 Apaches, the best horsemen, in creation;
 Use them to great advantage.

 The Vista are good animals but unpredictable,
 Causing their users many problems.

 But I have heard of a new breed,The Seven.
 It is said to be the result of mixing wily mountain mustang herds,
 With the speed of the white man's Arabian stallion stock.
 Creating a truly unique workhorse.

 I shall get one and find out if this is true.
 They say that with such a beast,
 I shall need all my rodeo skills.
 It is yet to be seen,
 Only time will truly tell.

Dusti Rodes (2008)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

Ballad of an Easy rider.

All I ever really wanted 
was just to be truly free.
But this is the way
that it always turns out to be.
Roll on, wheels, roll.

Jist sittin', listenin', 
to that ol' slow-beatin'
solid engine sound.
Takin' me on down
a long 'n' windin' road.
To yet another one-horse town.

Flow, river, flow.
Till you finally
get to the sea.
Take me to the place, 
I always wanted to see.


Dusti Rodes (2006)