Bottle Neck Clause

Clauses are more free than my verses are cared for
Roses have a finer dining room than the space between my ears.
Cheering is for American Bandstand and England is grand,
I am alone at last with the class of almost regrettably yours.
How could it be that the question came upon me?
That tomorrow mattered more than the youth of berated Paki
That was not Thy self be done in the I-I of a son of a gun.
There! Lost it. My verse is a hearse to the memory of an ode to a disaster,
The Master is Enlightened and I am one with today’s promise.
Time is on this planet for as long as we can guess about it,
But nobody will listen to their sorry hearts about my illness.
Many moons ago, when the knowledge was stored beneath the sand,
Time was not collected in a bottle for the very filmed and bravery but balanced bland.
The memory of mistake was not the fake they were claimed to be
As they were sedated and chastised for ruling the lost tribes of Alcatraz.
There was the Plaza, away from the car crash, trying to remember Egypt
Like a belonging soldier attached to the demotion of love’s hairs on a long forgotten body
Writing the writhing into being all over the top of me with a family tree
So irresponsibly drawn that the carriages were better placed by the oasis
In the schools of throughout thought learning to tarry progress on the seas.
I was not meant for you, said my verse in a prancing prosaic blue(s)
So why was she meant for him? There is nothing in you, dear Poet, that is not dim.
Light is to light what the led are to the electricity of mobility awareness
When the fairness for addressing life’s porridge and problems is clearness.
Sanctions are actions when the correspondence is tremendous
But the mellowness of post drugs infidelity to libellous
Is not going to absolve freedom of either one of us.
Life is to life what negligence is to the horrible especialising of nature’s gait
When old man William was made a captain, Oh my (darling) Captain, with 7 Archangels too late.
Lucifer was left out so that the new sobriety was dimmed and clever
And time could give Muhammad some space to leave and remember.

Midsummer Renaissance

Poor is the morale of the visitor who eats
Porridge close besides the ridges in the Grand Canyon.
They may be in his heart,
He may have walked a lonely imagination to his home from it
But is the food worth being taken?
The talent is now in the hands of the beholder
The gold residue is apologized for
It was meant by blessed bleedin’ intent
The frogs the vision the Pharaoh.

A locus of the mind’s  eye,
A sewer rat caught on
Sing a song… as you can.
Did _ crimes of passion?
Fashion of Women of Mass Dicks.
Ask again and I’ll end the pain
[        ] the alpha and omega strain.
It’s not the same without you,
Where’s HaitiGlobalised.Com? Investment in Kali 4 Never Cajun
Cages @ California is not my home!

Now stay there.
Cages and soul.
There is no point arresting a toad
Who wanders from his hall drunken
He will not live like a sparrow on a tree branch
And thanks no-one for the noon of Midsummer Renaissance.