ROCK AND REVOLTERS’ MOOD-SWINGS
Wild is the song I sing; Wilde’s is the sonnet I quote from
in a moment
of long lost strength… of long lost strain.
Covered in sheets of skin; wrapped in wounds and chills of night
I gaze in flamboyance of flaming lips and bleeding bloody fright.
Since this soul-stone hemorrhage, provoked by pointless polishing,
releases rock at length… releases loss of nature.
Nocturnal nooky nudity and pubic pores wide open while excreting,
I scar this tissue’s skin of sinful stains by crooning crow’s
Remember us holding the barricades. Recall us chanting with
Evoke us standing up to standards. Bring to mind us ripped up round
Feral is the fur I rag; fear all over fuzz which comes to snuffling
through long wrecked realms… through long held qualms.
Overthrown by gunshots going chest; poignantly now naked in the
I’m no servant, nor will I be slave. Queens are cards, I will
preserve my rights…
Since this nail-hole massacre, motivated by masc’ra masquerades,
frees the fragile frantic… liberates heart’s piston
and heart’s stain.
Clothed in our cannibal’s cute cue; dressed up to occasions
you stress once more it was just for a moment, our uniforms stood
out while they were…
Remember us being the hurricanes. Recall us catching the unpredictable
winds of weathers.
Evoke us ignoring the bastards. Bring to mind our passionate, provocative
M.J.C.A. Stout Vuurland, 06-16-2004