Calling out to the wild man out in the corner in there, grab your club and drinking horn and bring a hell that no ones heard before and let the fires consume you incarnate. The madness cannot be definable or determined by concrete things so wild man live on and be free live like no man has ever lived before. Don’t look BACK because you will surely turn to stone and die an average man. Your kind is not alone just silently waiting there turn to be counted and to be realized. Fight and run because you surely will not feel what others are feeling. However keep in mind the code of chivalry that binds you to reality otherwise let the rest folly in niceties and measuredness for it is surely not meant for you to live this way and you know it to be true deep in the bowls of being. There is a soul that needs to taste randomness and blind assertions for without them you grow in a tired weary state of the afterthought of the world trying to consume your soul. Live free my little wild man and die hard because this is the only truth you know and to go another way makes you an unauthentic piece of shit that moseys around. Breath that hot fucking fire you dragon of a man because that is you….. A wild man

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Hard like rock yet cold like snow. The enemy is not gaining strength they are building myths, try to imagine a source that is not like a harsh cold winter. Now sign your name on that WAR document.


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Call to Arms

Originally posted on Writings of the UnKnown Mr. Taylor:

Call to arms! Call to arms!
Our freedom will have to wait.
Someone else’s is at stake.
Liberation of a country that needs it.
We shall intervene!
and protect ourselves, while bringing down the tyranny!

Do not cry.
I will return to you.
There is no doubt in my mind.
I am but a simple poet but do not worry.
Dry those eyes.
I will never leave you.

I am always here for you.
No matter the distance.
I’ll send my love across the moonlight
With every breath I take while I sleep.
A midnight reassurance,
that my beating heart belongs to you.

I wipe away the salty tears.
My lips gently brush yours.
I hold you tight.
I don’t want to physically leave,
I want nothing more to stay with you.
It’s been such a short time together.

I’ll be back soon.
My hand leaves yours.
Yours leaves mine.

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Snake Tongued

Standing up there giving his grandiloquence,
doesn’t anyone see it as ponderous?
Words are his snakes, causing blind consequence
so cover your ears to be one of the courageous.

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prose or poems.

o’holy find love!

move toward a goal.

what was that she said?

stop now.

maybe not.



drugs. drugs. drugs.

stop now.

what did I say to you?

I miss the mother and son who sat behind me, my seatmate, the comfort.

No one makes noise from Roc to Cuse. The Lady who took my seat eats

crackers quietly and rubs her finger tips in the aisle. She flips vanity fair reading

the ads and plows another cracker into her beaked face.

15 minutes till noon, when I’ll allow myself to start drinking the booze I brought along in my bag.

9-10 more hours until Boston. I bought the ticket, I’ll take the ride.

she refuses to

hold conversation. I hope

they sell bottled wine.

All stops went quick, hoping to get into Boston early. Slept from Albany to  Schenectady.

Too many hits of tequila in the bathroom. Just left Springfield, headed toward Wooster.

Had noodles and coffee to burn off some liquor. Both were terrible.

Dinner lady, forty something, black and from Chicago.

Hope to find a sandwich shop in Portsmouth and a good coffee and maybe flowers.

I want time to sit and enjoy a Marlboro.


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The Gray Of Consequence

Originally posted on Writings of the UnKnown Mr. Taylor:

The clamor was heralded as the end
The last particle of dirt thrown down
And deep sadness spread.
That was the last night a word was spoken
Through whispers or yells
Over the phone or through writing
Nevermore was a single word spoken
The dark shadow had descended,
A Curtin of dismay and misery,
To heavy to lift for anyone
Now shoulders hunched against the weight
and walking head lowered against the rain
Solider on weary, and broken
And pray not to vanish in the shadow.

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Dall’altra Parte

The sun is mocking me as it sinks low,
Beneath the horizon promising me,
Another night where beauty does not see,
Terror lurking all over and below;
Summer’s heat is jaded (going away)
Leaves shriveling up taking away shade,
Exposing everything to what has been made:
Beauty becoming a slattern each day,
By sable lands ruthless tongues borne on wind,
That they themselves forsake the evil within,
Which we entrap in the deep of the night-
So we run, we die from our time sinned-
It catches up with us creating a din,
Cutting us (faster then time’s scythe) with might.

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