Wednesday, 8 September 2010

I's like WORD!

I’s like word!

Eyes all bulged out in a mind choking on what they heard…

I’s like take it!

I’s like, burn!

I’s like dance…

Burn n*gger!





Burn in the toppling fat fires of your fierce material desires you proud miserly fool!

I’s like shoo! Go home, back home back to Godhead…

Child’s like ‘NO!

Monday, 6 September 2010

dwellers of 'The Fifth Grove.'

Dwellers of The Fifth Grove...
To those in your guise...
From where they fall,
Your shadows will stand erect from out the inside of those walls.
To dirty dance entranced in the sound of your demise…
Solid enough to be grabbed and hurled to the ground,
Hissing towards that dry hardness,
Where they will hit and shatter into hundreds of silent pieces, and then merge with the souls of our feet to sickly walk the paths to which we’re all bound…
These ghosts are now your children.
Food for the hype…
Riddled by the many trends fashioned from the latest hatred in this era’s slave trade.
Building blocks for the old hollow that shifts in fancy word jugglery to praise the dead with failed attempts to corrupt Absolute Truth…
And the divided dogs will bark themselves to bits in that night,
Fed by a fear of hunger, became fools who’d kill for this incredible stereotype,
As mad colorful beings stand in the white to sh*t this darkness into sight…

motherly love

Motherly love,
What with brief relief from that which you might have not understood.
Though We may prostitute ourselves,
With the hope that in the end, It will not all mean a thing…

Give freedom,
A name fit for that wild girl child without a wish to be won,
Yet feed on their passion to will,
And kill us all off,
With the hows of how they became beautiful when ‘The Man’ finally gave them back to our world,
Armed to the tooth, with Molotov cocktails, and the isms of femininity,
To burn their woman down to that crisp of toasty brown,
Back to the filth out of which they were formed,
With clenched fists, and smiling teeth,
Before they were all declared found.