Ceyx Kingfisher

December 23rd, 1977 - The Netherlands
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11:11

Standing up and spitting down,
Stay praying for something to say.
All the decked out checked out hoodie hacks,
Hanging back way in the Slack.
Parsing Sharp and Forth,
Psycho goth tigers padded pacing,
Straitlaced tracing froth,
Grazing an ittle little bitty bit of meaning.
Congealing Venti steaming. Oxy healing.
Degaussed egos packed to the ceiling.

Chrysalis Quasinodoze spiting their crystal nose,
Cuts on their phone lit face from seeing no race.
Full service lips flapping, spit flecked,
Chapped from clap trapping.
Stayed tongues in glass jaws, kneeled language wagging,
Hearts and minds lagging.

Pious unwashed mass-less black holes,
Peep peeping unwilled dumbass proles,
Testated mini popes popping their pew pews,
Hear the report echo on the night's news.
Gaping mewling maws, locked and cocked rictus laws,
Null drones in their pantsy comfort zones,
Bona fide country fried,
Making no bones.

Letters Scarlett, stone that oh-so-scary scarred harlot.
Famed shame is the name to fan the flame,
Burn down their ghoulish Gules game,
Pure rules endured; bright days ensured.
Don't back off those jacked up cracked up jackoffs,
Booted thugs whacking off with Kalashnikovs,
Drinking Molotovs, Armalite and a Sprite.
Genetic programmatic prognathic inbred underbite;
Ruminant cattle chewing cud.

I'm gonna dream on screaming this stream.
Come to stop me? Don't leave without seeing.
Cut to the quick and can't stop the bleeding,
Readily reeling from the real, stealing a meal.
Corporate core, grave robbing welfare without a care,
Begging your fair share.
Elsa says it's gettin' hot down here
And also over there.

Feeding my familiar failing needs,
Fading kept feelings on the horizon steeled.
Out there, dealing my powdered deals,
Spinning your dope, sick, horsepowered wheels.
Burnt rubber squealing out Holy Ghost smoke,
Seized Sirens ceding.
Doppler phased crossing dapper innerspace.

Graced in arsenic and old spice boot lace,
Just one dial and a cynical cyanide in vitro vial.
Hang up on ourselves behind barred cells,
Blue in the face through glass housed shells.
Failed vivisected ex nihilo souls flayed,
Displayed in strangers' joined hells.
Prison's no prism, just hard on heart-hardened hard ons,
Contractually packed in compact vox pop panopticons.
Violent priapism, conned cons;
A myopic stigmatism.

I'm saying no and staying on. But I'm moving; gone.
They don't own our owe, we owe we.
Better figure it out without mine,
Can't take me out, I'm breaking this loud,
Grown a spine.

Thee and thine,
When you and you see I,
In time,
We three freed to be,

Shout!

-- Hoki & Ochecho. Selfie Disstructive Tour. Austin, TX. July 4th, 2048.
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