Walter Simon

You can shoot a star apart
Sweep up all the dust
Calculate math
And follow the path of Apollo
If you must
Or Now take the hand of Isis
in a dance of Dionysus
The illusion blocks out confusion
An allusion to a thought.

The abundance of minimal faith
Panic is worming through time
Berserking all over the authorities
I fear appear in desperate chase

Alcoholic demonic hyberbolic frolic
Hyper diaper voyeur
Telephantomic lawyers
Are perched above the canyon
Of wreckless sex abandoned.

Imagery is the life of poetry,
Metaphor is the wisdom.
Wet leaves blackened and aged
Blanket forest floors
A rotting skin
Softness made crisp and fresh
by the newly fallen.
Mystery activities must remain so far to prod would mean to disturb and ruin another being's ignorant bliss.
To satisfy curiosity one must be disatisfied with ignorance.
Placing that satisfaction over mere contemplation and quiet appreciation is perhaps a minor evil.
To develop the power of the evil eye
Must one master the knowledge of the eye of light?
The eye which illuminates only the shallower depths of the pool,
but does not frighten the fish away nor embarrass the deep dwelling
Bottom feeders, the low and unproud,
the prehistoric lobe-fins who want to be lizards but don't know it.
I somehow know that if eye had the soft light eye
all the time eye would not need the evil eye, and this is why eye does not immediately seek the dark party, horned by nature. It is a corrupt nature, a nature born in an urban flower pot and not the woods wilds of the owls and foxes. And Walter pondered, "Am I to be the woodsman or the commander of armies?" He pondered some more, "Now I am a woodsman, but there are mercenaries who could be bribed by a rich man. There are merry men who are easy to piss off and who turn on you when Charisma fails.

A holy certificate was handed down the magnetic mountain of magma.
Spawning schools of shimmering shellfish
Spitting pounds of sounds against the Porcelain Pillars
As the mind squirts streams of icy sweetness (sandwich)
to quench the ogre of intestine.
Watch in awe as I now spin your moon sideways on your backside
and laugh with 7 hawkwings flashing from haughty mouth,
boasting of bland toast
and thin scrapings of margarine
a class spin on an ancient revolutionary doctrine now shattered by heat molten filling the cracked teeth of giants.
You sivery screan shall ignite upon my damning gaze...the silvery saliva settles
and now we pan the stream, the lead settles in the cracks,
What once infected the romans has infested your t.v.s.