This blog was created for others who will hopefully glean something from the words I have written.Not much to say except I ran off from an orphanage when I was 13 years old.Hopped on a freight train and joined the circus.Have been wandering ever since.I am grateful to be alive and my only desire is to leave something here for others to gain from.If I can accomplish that then I have successfully reached my intended goal.All we have left in the end is our legacy.
Beyond the haunted mesas In the valleys below New York City was vaporized Its radiation persists As would a plague upon the earth Those who remained with raised hands Making inquiry to the heavens Worms with gourds placed over them In finality until expiration Their corpses remain unburied Rotting in decay upon the earth No effect can be too great upon me I am the lady of masks who rides upon The wings of my invention Neatly placing mementos into my nest In the distance a whirlpool continues A sinkhole that sucks away at the decay Placing it into the bowels of the earth The mantis and the butterfly remain Pollination will replenish in the blooming In the new days ahead which have begun
Creeping rotting vegetation Wraps itself around the throat Of local places which once thrived Strangulation everywhere Furiously I whip my rabbit Into submission he sinks Falling beneath my rage When the Czar's army came to Kovno They peered onwards looking When you placed pipes into their mouths Forcing water downwards Until it made them explode Women and children fled into the river Drowning themselves out of sacrifice They said nothing in the shadow of Stalin You could easily slumber next to me Not knowing that I have piercing arrows Under my quilt to thrust into your heart If not for my grandfather It would be so but instead: You are left to the hunger of ravenous wolves
There are no windows in my room Seclusion from the daylight In the countryside My blue house stands Without gutters to funnel the rain The tree on the hill painted In stealth of night Blue leaves shimmering Under the stars Will they adore eachother In the light of day I have no way of knowing With no windows to look out from my room
The objects of her lust vary She uses her squeeze box Holding her prey close Upon release they wander aimlessly Seeking out refuge and celibacy All desire has been taken from them Until there is no more to take Introverts are mentally drained Extroverts are zapped for their energy In all that might remain Strangulation and reticulation Like wild loose vegetation It wraps itself around the ankles Squeezing unto bulging eyes Sexual death is within her merciless thighs There is no conversation In the meat factory where sides of beef Hanging on hooks awaiting butchery So that they might be consumed Ichabod Crane sees the headless horseman Welcoming him with open arms Rather than to face the relentless pursuit Of the squeeze box woman In a world where There are not enough doors That lead to quiet rooms
