2017 CBC CANADA Writes (was going to submit but never did)...

UNDER THE SUN
Championing velvet,
obscurity underfoot,
the carnivorous regolith,
carves at the air,
between us there is war,
a gesture amplifying
consistency.
The sun sets in Tangiers,
and chases the horizon,
greeted by every flag,
under the sun.

THE PLANS OF GREAT MEN.
Beatnik death
Rampant with corpses eternal sleep,
under covalent bonds,
persistent like Icarus,
evading aolian
swept by destiny.
Delightful humanity,
my tears are a violin,
softly laughing,
at the plans of great men.

FRUITIONS FLUX
My neck underfoot
and ostriches instinct,
collapsing the ion,
instinct to incorporate
precarious luck.
The pedantic persuasion,
chasing the decimal,
under the wait,
of a fraction of necessity,
drawn from oblivion,
to fruition's flux.

OBLITTERATING OBLIVION
I bought Bolivia, Belize, Burma and Brazil,
A prepackaged oblivion,
freedom and ignorance,
designing the recalcitrant
obliteration dissuaded by hydral orbits contented,
in virtue of miracles
dressed in whim,
obliterating oblivion.

TENDERNESS
Your place or mind,
Coffee tea me or revolution.
Motion dictated by prose
qualifying itself for Valudia's harp
accompanied by Vedu the poet bard,
scanning the death fields,
like immanent Valkyries.
Achieving aims constant privileged affection,
savage in its tenderness.

ECHOPLEXING THE MERIDIAN
Alter of thunderous storm,
a preacher chisels at the pulpit,
with his character rich performance.
Somewhere in the thirsting desert,
formed of a fertile mirage's meridian.
by supplanted understanding tides have forgotten,
the sun's embrace, in constant night,
caressing Apollonic skies.
The oblong edifice of their surviving grace,
dressed in revolutions,
capitulates the integer's irrational numbers,
echoplexing the meridian.

REASON'S REMORSE
Hold me to the fire of your passion,
burning my imagination at the edges of reason,
making visions palpable
to the absconded memory,
of our imbricated pulse.
Fold rhythm in form,
Amplified near incision's
cutting deep within,
the pulseflow of inversion's monuments.
The sun reflected gathers myths into shadows,
Apollo's ghost traces memory through night sky,
Revealing provisions
in the unconscious banality
of reason's remorse.

BORN
Death
you unwilling master,
of a living pulse,
denied by time's reportage imbibing a reluctant life,
in the garden of earthly delight,
intention's absconded by ontic abandonments,
richly reflected,
in the coefficiency of rage,
in whose awe and trembling,
spirits are born.

5 MINUTES TOO LATE
Constant insanity
driving uncertain whim
from their evicted dreams
bonded to the art of aim's intention,
weeping bullets
enpuzzling articulation,
enapsulating certainty,
crises castigation grounding format of consonant oblivion,
seen within the plaster cast mold,
arriving at the revolution,
five minutes too late.

WISDOM'S ARC
Broadcasting Complexions
in the concealment of their unspeakable countenance
revealed in constant offence,
at the expectation of tactic,
where Nature once sufficed,
culture is a machine,
whose only dream,
absolves the world of its emptiness
and the energy encapsulated by dictations material,
extracting Kepplerian certainty
from wisdom's arc.

VAPOURIZED
Page compromize abject dialogue,
wordcount panopticons,
embracing aspersion,
contingent abjection,
harmonizing the pending certainty,
postponed by concern's immersion,
cascading in the velvet accord,
perpetuating the rhythm of allied kinship,
appropriate to the command of a generation's estimation,
occluding history's bridgework to the atom,
evoking the cadence of order,
from sociopathic children,
upgraded from psychopathic adults,
to recover reigns of power,
with consistency at the helm of
lord help us God,
The revolution will be vapourized.

THE ALCHEMY OF CHANCE
Churning world zero,
into abdurate ascription,
harvesting obliteration,
in namesake groundswell,
near root of tides,
echoing water tables,
gulping saltwater and radiation,
at the chasm of subsistence,
Burroughs did not mean to shoot his wife,
accidents and tests of the superhuman,
celebrating the achievement of the human arc,
where we are reduced to memory,
and beyond this,
immortal achievements,
in the alchemy of chance.

~ King Earth (I recently adopted this name it's my artist name I am one of the Greatest Artists in Human History, hopefully in the eyes of God at least). I want to be just as much more better than me than you are of your best best against yourself we are each the litmus to our own progress, God guide you all to the best and beyond the best that you can all possibly achieve together as attuned to the best you can possibly achieve on your own and with others.