“boooooom”
Wish I could’ve went to Stonehenge
to find what the ancient corpses dug up
I hear they’re trying to resurrect the wooly mammoth
I say leave Shallow Halliburton alone
let her rest for G.O.D’s sake… (gold, oil, drugs)
La Bonet drago la flaga signifies Domino eyepatch
Arson mode, tires flat, Orson Welles novel-owned wiretap
Agra’s wearing high hats, agnostic proles file down iron shafts
bottle-nosed Reinhardt hatch mixed in molotov wine & schnapps
Karzamakov hellraiser, hamuntashens? “Yes, Major!”
shot unconscious yell phazers to the lawless Lagos beltmakers
wand or not, Hamas cops tailgate your trailblazer with spell wavers
Honeymelt wastelands COINTEL matrix
run the Delphi maidens like a brothel, they’ll pay it
Sweating the seven shades of Dagestani storm chasers
it’s selective chess: some are born pawns, some born players
-paging educational board in Manchuria- what’s the global outlook?
is it bleak, is it carved in monkswood and roaming cloud nooks
mortar bombed Castellini calligraphy – haven’t been awake at all
the Vatican’s position in a Reagan brawl
Caspian’s got her legs wide open, the IMF’s waiting for a mating call
slight Eurasian build, the ability to decipher Satan’s swills
cupboard under the ninth star, forsaken, indibted, raided, zilch
this Christ-like zeitgeist made me ill.. with its bite-sized, mangy pills
all they want to do in Quebec is suck on a maple leaf & chill
termerics of office, 4th term, ousting in effect
gasceous chambers of an Adam’s apple, Auschwitz at the neck
Klausewitz’ intent to command a howitzer’s respect
Sasqatchewan synthemesc, Solaris men hitting the deck
Polarity inching towards debt, in crimson corsette stitched in morgue-stretch
chins up, my fabled countrymen, try a Liz Claiborne cleft
Cyclops summer getaway rich in Norse guests
that’s the color of visigoth bondage. List em off brolic
missile targets Omsk ridge, enough to make Ishtar’s vaunted image spawn colleagues
look at all the blood that the scimitars vomit
lit cigars, cautious, sitting in a rent-a-car in Ramallah
circuitbreakers in his mouth like fried gumbo, tonguing a kundalini
munchin a bunch of ziti at lunch with a humble deity
wash my car, but fair warning to Ukranian friends
don’t puncture the fucking squeegee
—
Erik Moshe is someone who is interested in things like the Trivium method, underground rap and vanilla protein smoothies with no GMO ingredients. He is officially a civilian again, having completed 4 years in the US Air Force. His goals include researching faux economics and pursuing a bachelor’s degree in journalism. His work can be found at TheCentersphere.Yolasite(.)
