Englishwoman Martha

Martha is able to say

to every man

" I am capable of moving mountains, of rocking hearts.

I don't need a courtier,
I can have

my own assistance. "


-


Martha, shut it.

Because you hang around weeping:
" I can't say no ".

To him.

You can waste money on this man.
Have him inside you.
Gorge beautifully.

Instead, I see:

" I am my own tragedy, night and day. "

Anchor

If anything, there's a new color in the streets.

Brilliant of you, Edna
to hint towards
our inner courage.

Their faces are tainted now.

-

The essence of every human begs to anchor your legs into the tip
of the mouth of a swallowing ocean.

Pineapple's Creek

He's tall and reaching his 20's - he has the balls to take take take.

A veteran in gluing chips together, to the tribe one of his best achievements to date.
"I have roots in my brain".

A diamond in the rough, the possession of his sugar cunt violet dame.

They twist tongues of pineapple flavor, airheaded both of them.
There's more potential to him.

Man I've got an army of seventy-thousand grandmothers on high-heels,
holding rifles,
swords.

This side proves to be the strongest.
Change directions.
We'll give give give.

Leave Windy Sally behind.

Put an acetaminophen on this wine, say:
"Windy Sally please drink the wine"


At the end, France will be calling: "mass meeting"
Singing vespers, fueling our bodies.

Our China

Using telescopes to meet
the valley
at the Eye's Mouth
seems
a safe step
for bettering
our
China.

They said.

-

"Man, dare to touch me" she said "I'm only laying everything


down."
She was a wise virgin, elegant.
Fountains squirted forth but "men are pigs", meanwhile our
flames collided, beauty enhanced.

"Our China is burning, in angst"
Her lavander eyes suffocated and our mirror-children were growing spores from watching them

Premenstrual, hooded child.
Leave now for your own good.

On Mondays we travel,
muscles on thrones, aroused, arousing.
Ourselves aloof, detached from schemes that otherwise would define "desperation".

St. Gertrude of August

I'm missing something here, help me out:
I saw them when I was crossing the village, warming up seconds before the pagan rummage began.
They were confident of each other, flipped with a vouching technique.

Rather giddy and overwhelmed
I heard my name,
I said - I turned - I said: "Yes?"

Lord knows I could see your clay teeth in the shine with:

a Caesar in the making,
a boy helding his daughter, saying: "Alas, bring ice into my mid-twenties daughter", and
a wise willowlike man calling out "I named to salute."

"Oh," - I leaned towards Bernadette: "Let us leave,



our future is kept pure in our sane mind."
St. Gertrude acts: It was pure in the seventh day of The Haze of Augustine
but now the dull bodies serve as a left-over, for another sacrament.

I could not conceive myself belonging here, I grabbed
Bernadette by the hand, I said:
"I can still break another jaw or two."

Our feast is held by a thin line, and struck by lightning.

Bernadette held a rosary with a veil atop her head.
I said goodbye to August: "I leaked my eyes out at your ending."

Storm ahead

"Is this where I once gave up?"

It's safe to say the wind's coming around,
days are approachable and easy to stomach.

But the lines are blurred inside of our pigments,
have we processed the magnitude of our actions yet?

My private ancestor acted wisely,
he buried the words of writhe.

To the tribe I can now say:

"Cut through thick air but willingly,
in this form of selfless defense we bow
with hot iron pressing on our backs"

They were glad to see
I can leave
to prove our minds are sacred
and return
with burdens already burned.


"It's a privilege to tackle the unknown for the tribe in spite of the risk"

Wilma

Wilma Livingston once set a statement.
She killed the man's dulcinea and didn't break a sweat.

"Babe-will-you-stop-calling-him-'love'-I-think-you-will-babe-"

Wilma has pale skin and dark hair, a Cruella-de-Vil in her mid-40's and a hunter with a vision: seeking the finest meat inland, strutting down the street in an inside ache, staring at every man from head to feet assuring the gentlemen she was willing to provide a generous sleepover from her behalf.

Wilma slid smoothly from one mouth to the other, the talk of the city -- she loved it. She was known for being an asset for the boys that wanted an experienced mistress. There she went with her "mother-I'd-like-to-fuck" quality. One that she could carry gracefully.

It was clear to me and to the rest of the folks that Wilma was not one to mess around with.

This is interesting. Did Perpetua know?
Was Perpetua aware of Wilma's vision?


Perpetua attempted to mess with Wilma on a rainy day of August.

She said: "You're stepping on forbidden land
don't try to further into our area"

Wilma smiled and she took three steps ahead.

Before anything was done, Wilma made it clear to Perpetua: "I'm the snake that's been blindfolded"
"Mess and pay."
Oh what a pilgrimage Perpetua Craft suffered.

Wilma is the scent of the devil, murder musk.
A fireblast of lust, a beast on the leash.

She left the room, high-heels atop Perpetua.

It's still raining. The children dance and sing:

sweet foolish woman, baby of the sea,
shed tears in vain, grab us by the hand
Wicked Wilma was once here, she payed and left

we told her, st. Gertrude, we were clear:
if you mess with the devil
the devil itself
will
bite
your
eyes
out,
foolish woman, baby of the sea.



" Baby someone killed my ladylove - he said -


Wilma - a void - this body needs you. "