Gord

2014-07-16 12:00 am

Dill pickle chips, I find them delicious.
If I could find a fault, a little more salt.
Then they would be where sweet chili heat is.

Gord

2014-07-16 12:00 am

A relationship couldn't hurt you.
They call her whirlpool. What?
Cannot water purl, lest swirl?
Cannot the girl circle?
Without countess' calling Birle?¹
A charity now, discounts jealousy.
Apparently they want your man...

Maybe the man they seek is a boy.
Attracted to kiss curls and cute girls.
Ensnared in world's trap of spit curls,
The world is full of geothermal cores.
Moreover she's 'so hot',
She only explores herself.
I walked right into the flower shop.
Honestly I'm not looking for vagina,
I'm just looking to be the primus.²


Footnotes:
1. Swirling Water; Masculine Name;
2. The 'one'; The first.

The Sophist

2014-07-15 12:00 am

Belly poked by intrauterine demise -
 infanticide - now I can poke her in her
 thighs. I fantasized that maybe the baby
 would have cried, or that I would have
 stopped it, crazy by the pain I feel inside.
 Now I swear there's nothing there. I lost the
 key to the divine.

I dreamed a life of orgies but my sex life is
 austere. Who cares? I drink nightly, and dream
 of an affair with a tryst. I jot prose for love
 not there and recite them to the one that I
 declare. I'm sick from life; to levy death is
 fair. I'm too sick to spread my sickness. Give
 them death, who fucking cares?

The Sophist

2014-07-10 12:00 am

I'm not mad,
Or blinded by infinity,
I want the moon,
As I saw in my epiphany,
That's all.

The Sophist

2014-07-07 12:00 am

Hating rap,
Via rappers hating freestyle,
Respecting the art,
Seeing nothing worthwhile.

A new look is what's need,
Art lied, we need focus,
Rap needs Lied.

The Sophist

2014-07-04 12:00 am

He speaks in subterfuge,
He makes myth from animal bones, 
'scribes visions of mothers viewed postnatal,
He calls them "future you".
He claims Caesar's final breath found you.
He sees a subtle use,
And has you build his thrones.
He's too busy to view.
He gives you your fill,
You attack at his illusions,
'til your confusion is ill.

I write folk songs for fools.
Without steps I reach your homes,
Crying disses of another's views most fatal
I call them "false truths",
I hand out bauble knives to the Fountain Youth,
I burn the stable spruce,
And make off with the stones,
I take the dragons too,
I live just to kill,
I attack at your confusion,
Pushing your illusions downhill.

Gord

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Wireless like the spy network.
Re-worked that line reads:
Pyrite like the bomb network,
That evolved from good times.
Happy days and thick lines.
Hollywood bats his back nine.
Happiness captured in his eyes.

The Sophist

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Another victory means I'm undone,
Wars are lost where battles won,
I can no longer fight with spirits dead,
The bards asleep, the songs are done.

Pyrrhus produced a record for fun,
Ruined industry in one fell swoop,
Breaking critics' thumbs,
Sounds of cyanide group hit number one.

Perhaps best to join the opposition,
For fear that death becomes my own position,
My army met attrition,
Attrition proved a worthy foe.

But if they come, I must not go,
For I doth know, sky hide not sun,
Nor drums, moon, cloud or snow.
I'll shine bright 'til my gallows strung,
I saved the Kingdom; 
Now I'm scum.

Gord

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Cardinals, Priests,
Meadows of patients waiting.
Gold Dinar, feasts,
Falsettos of passion singing.
Bringing ashen feet,
Bellows and deep reservoirs.
Nothing but temptation,
Fleeting hearts, mellow minded followers.
Cheering on, like stallions they broke us.
Ignorant engulfed in a field of locust.

Gord

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Soul searching, to quench my thirst.
Burning coal. Dense smoke. Smouldering.
Yearning whence, we control the hearse.
Returning self-control and sense,
Only to those left shouldering.
Soul surviving artist dreampt the worst:
All of my love to her,
All of her love in return.
All for I have yearned.
Once dreams do I now incur,
Nightmares embraced with au revoir,
Left to die without concern.
Simply to never again be reborn.
Chorus Sings.

Gord

2014-06-30 12:00 am

So abruptly that it caused me to stumble.
The words of the mother, 
The pastor defends.
Im so ugly,
When I asked if my mom loved me,
She said:
Let's just be friends.

The Sophist

2014-06-30 12:00 am

I advise,
20 some-odd years of life,
To adhere,
To live for four more years,
And the reason to live for;
Four more years.

Do I love you?
I refuse to answer,
So the answer's no,
I walk home heart-broke,
Coat-less in the cold,
A propos of the wet snow.

Carving names in cave walls with a bone,
I plan a life before me in stone,
Four more years for us all,
And if the fall doth happen,
Four more years for us all,

I rise,
Rags to riches and homeless again,
No fear,
In the four year plan.
I devise,
To never be homeless again,
My reason to live for;
My own device.

If you want to run,
I will take you there,
Somewhere beautiful,
Eclipses everywhere,
Full-on inscrutable,
Just live for four more years.

The Sophist

2014-06-27 12:00 am

If this be in 'plaint,
Let it slap the taint,
My GAD spooks the best in the medical
 community,
Gadzooks, 
If I were a saint,
I'd be the saint of head cases with no
 cure or immunity,
Let loose,
No 5150 in the Land of Impunity.

Gord

2014-06-26 12:00 am

I return nothing, 
In return to cost.
I posture a nomenclature,
Fecal mouth needs an orthodontist.

The Sophist

2014-06-25 12:00 am

I swing about a bauble,
I scream about all belief,
And claim it to be fallible,
I run to where the light doth scramble,
To a place where all the truths are false,
And dreams are able, and soar about my bauble,
Radiant light of torch-lit dragon stables,
I sing in fable, and swing about my bauble,
All the dragons burnt alive by gas,
Spilled off tables knocked and set alight.
The old king has no ace to punish strike,
Now that dragons are not able to end life.
A workforce overthrows the king unable to know why,
A mutiny by accident with baubles as our knives.

The Sophist

2014-06-25 12:00 am

It all seems fine, but in the contents of Hell,
In the contents of Hell we find ourselves,
In these confines, context reveals,
It all seems fine, take no notice of flaming steel.
False conflicts too real, long to be alone teenaged.
Reconciliation unreal, plans set and are sealed locked.
Fools say both true and false can be nice,
Consistent and lacking of.

Gord

2014-06-25 12:00 am

It gets better, not in the context of health, 
In the context of health we need some help.
In this complex, contents are sealed. 
It gets better, complicated of locks of steel
Cause continents to kneel, or to be a lone teammate.
Re-invigoration repeal, cancelled and revealed false.
Truth of anything else would be nice,
Instead of the lack thereof.

Gord

2014-06-24 12:00 am

Founded in response to clamor,
A missive written by cowards.
I found it couldn't be read aloud,
Without the sound of laughter.
I also found it dismissive,
Critical issues are clear.
An attack on my character,
Expound from the rear.
I respond with kisses,
The critical issue is context.
So it appears, they fear progress.
They fear a progression of issues,
So it appears, they clearly want this.