GRS (When found before the flood)

Whence have you come from, soft children of mine own mind?
Take refuge in my darkness; boughs of roses you will find
atop a breeze, for only what flies can hold up my sentiments.
I stand undressed before glories of natures before me
but thick window-glasses separate me,

Mother, take me. Nurses are not women.
Teats do not satisfy, divinity remains sheathed,
Gory armies till land in my hand as i am fidgeting.

But you! Silly children! Stay and sup to my cooking.
I delight cretins, i was raised by jugglers.
Curious broths escape my kitchen
Rows of running shoes in line make wine.

And i drink! How i drink!
I drink to paintings yet to be painted
I drink to myshkins yet to be tainted
by the blood under the wheel.

The wheel churns mercilessly outside my window to the underworlds,
but the glass repels my bombs.

A flood is imminent; those above shall hear mere whispers
and I will float.

The scum will breathe
and climb down the trees.



Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.