Watch Roodbwoy draw back fate’s curtain

Show what’s to come that has already

happened – chaff, wind intrinsic’ly blows away


Yeah!  such that – History’s death remains

Non-celebrated even, though

Joined to a list of distinguished

Psychic spaces, conveniently

Classified boxes reminiscent

Pandora and deepest hell’s ‘post’

Prefix promises for future

Oracle, spawned when we’ve forgotten

Lilybet’s post-historical last

Century – Gloriana post

Historize this one too, England

broke History’s back, gave colonies

Chance to re-enact ancient tracks


Obama’s page folded – Barack’s gone

Locked in Time’s atmosphericly

Balanced, linear earth-calendar

left us gravitating toward

Polarized extremities trapped

In a vast world, globally reduced

To the size of a virtual

Goldfish bowl, War; spews every pore

Sweat-filled pits hide injured children

And new-born babes, shell-shocked before

They can actually see, sucking

Wind-filled tits from hungry belly


Yeah!  get – that space age demeanor

Characterizes literary

Warrior, and remember Real’s

Occult two-wayed mirror, hidden

Post-hypnotic clues given when

You realize Chaucer’s children spoke

French, with a little Latin instruction

And, England was certainly unread.


So class obliterated

Wealth and achievement allied breeding

Constituted worlds of gloss-eye

Following – tollboothing our route

said way postmodern and suffix

Chiseled open legal illicit

Borderline techno-spatial eras

Also, evoked social media

Isms to Truth and Post mania.


That it scorches fertile ranges

Already – throes of infancy

Be that, it sets for early youth

Adolescenced future changes

Foucault’s disruption, sees; Postruth

Aesthetics of perfection duly

Stained – our route, is surely poisoned

Unrestrained desperation – without truth.


… now we see History dead

Please, to close the curtain and let

The real take precedence instead

So we can move on history’s cultured way

The space age is nearly over

And the cyborgs are here to stay.



Poesy’s Lightning Bolt:

Marooned psycho, trapped-in-house, barely

Clings on – brinking fire , prop’pa

Fryers hanging loose waiting to burn

Locked in limbo ’til zero clock

No voice, or talk to defend yourself

Every night, even when sleep

Creeps tight, puffed; swollen eyes secretly

Weep-close kissing sodden pillows

Red light suspended in window

never sleeps, shines also in darkest

day – even when cat decides away.


Lightning claps excessively loud forks

Repetitioned over this vast

Universe – all at the same time

Precisely, to milli-est of seconds.


Now flushed free of scarlet and, is

Still a woman – moving on to

Success, and sweeter things in life

She links genuine, reliable

Friends growing arterial roots

Tied to all those effervescent

Characters, off-shoot cells loyal

Tendered into self-management

Purposely fizzing encouragement

Toward doorways – distinctly means

Recovery soothes feelgood pools

Rehabilitation’s feathered nest.


Pretty much a long, dark tunnel

Challenged by an ambitiously

Angry ant – You scope revival

Convincingly, vibes your survival

Faith gives life to that person inside

Your person, bringing thought to the

Table you become instrumental

A person, in a person’s great

Potential, at; home branded occult’s

Hidden seal with millions of hells, to

Give validated account, of; Fate’s

Judgment is person, to person Real.