Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, November 22, 2013 Under: Rhymed Verses
Stealth hunters ran with katanas, drawn towards the sculpted terrace gates
The Sovereign Kong-Shah's felt compelled to stay - Amon Ra's shelled the bay
just in case of sticky situations, wondering if Trojan Horses defecate
Sultan's forge emanates the spirit of a northern-born elk today
Bulbasaurs etch their blades; a frozen borg rests in wait
Sulphur pours onto my forest-worn oak menorah breakfast plate
I order more and watch the soldiers gorge on yellow maize
overlords from the ocean floor whose cult accords perplexed the Mage
Welcome to Tenochtitlan asylum! The vile pastures are part of me
Before I part from the world, I feel knives entrapped in my arteries
so I cite the source from the Mayan Calendar's glossary
and bite the chords of this bagpipe as cytoplasm try and target me
opening up a new chapter of death, I've skated through perils
and made it solely due to being clever - lived out of an atrium kennel
Frequently had tunnel vision - this Ziggurat's lower subterranean levels
I've been patient, I tell you, waiting for the shot I deserve, the axle swerves
I lust for war cries in battle, spittin' sermons through calloused words
A sharpshooter realizes his limits, places down his slingshot, & turns to his halberd
Banal words a man wears which I’d just love to etch away -
In an age of sk-ink: stars & the ilk provoke my sense of taste
until I’m forced to plant a poleaxe in your prolapsed chest, okay?
Metal-plated necro-shamans peddle basics for new pig-lets of Bay,
Blind & dumb men remain
bent and swayed to predicate the present state:
Learned martyrdom to avert a carnage of my people; memories of Esther, hey!
My gun blade truncates (now) numb napes of Kurosawa’s seven saints
whose tongues praised only xenophobes who bought the Eleventh day.
Dyslexic storks revert to Hero(i)n echoing babies draped in cellophane,
soon to be esper-trained pencil-cases who sketch grenades in a mental matrix.
Knelt to kiss His Fordship’s ring… hesitant: I, briefly, meditated
(Have you ever done anal, or really meant to taste shit?)
drew a Khyber knife - welt with tiger-stripe pelt - to, chiefly, penetrate it.
War was sought and celebrated.
Serenading falcon-mortars bleed lead shrapnel: He designed these tactics,
a Balkan author has three left; Camels -- historically you’d find his match lit.
There’s no finer craft it’s… matadors chasing bulls in a China shop,
Time has stopped as my sinus popped sat at the Old God’s civic dining spot.
We're playing lazer tag with Indians & robbers in an arena built for civil dialogue
Quetzlcoatl's got a headcold, the Gilgamesh's are dying off
Grip your diadems, scrap the Tylenols - clasp the ashen eidolons
Malcolm your hair into Inuit braids, thank Shabazz the lights are on
These ancient relics... have been ensconced in mist for centuries
Does the concept of Godsend apply to polytheistic entities?
Alien vs. Predator vs. Republican vs. Vagabond
Let's put a bull's eye through that mechanized flower for Algernon
Smoke from muskets is what the rainforest behemoth inhales
Emerald dresses bless a dark fertile crescent - sequins were pale
A child's knuckles rap against the wood to hear the demon's details
If I mentioned organized crime, would the meaning derail?
Bad culture wasn't far off, envisioning the immigrant pilgrims we shot
Spot the streaks of phlegm, for a piece or trim of that Bolivian rock
I see a flashbang grenade from the sky, all solar energy stops
Instantly, the mezzanine's more crystalline than originally thought
Even an enthused phoenix tends to crawl from its softened shell
if you fight tooth & nail, be sure to bring some floss as well
To no avail - except that coffers swell - tryna place that use,
Traded straights with Zeus, tracing terrain in my antediluvian inflated boots
Praised Shabat, laid with Samhat, as the chains of Enkidu already shaped a noose,
In the garden of Edenascent you’ll never taste the truth or a stranger fruit,
Raise the troops, in soft sand, where I planted an archaic Drake’s razor-tooth:
Rain produced Hagakure-born ninjas with attributes of Stormbringer
& absolute laws hinder none as the blast of an Oliphant horn lingers.
It’s Aztec Lazer Tag, Coatlicue compresses tablets made of hash
smoked through the pied pipe(r), biting sound hoping the brigade will track
or a phrase can catch as the phases pass; it’s all sacred math:
the maxim’s proof -- though I’m sure I’ll make my Master, soon.
Good afternoon. Iwamatsu spat fire… so I exhale naphtha fumes.
Traded my pen nib’s edge from a Muramasa to a Masamune,
I had the view as Metztli coughed up a blackened moon
& the Crimson King lifts soul from body as if there’s Rapture due.
I’m past attuned, penny-rent penitent, bramble vest fabric I wear
…commuting to the front lines everyday amidst a vanity fair.
In : Rhymed Verses