Yeats; Ashley Wells, Dhr. Seven, G.M. Guarnieri, Seth Auberon (eds.), Wisdom QuarterlyFor some, there's nothing subtle about it.Who really cares what senile Genocide Joe and Dr. Jill have to say? They lie, not as offensively but every bit as profusely...
Yeats; Ashley Wells, Dhr. Seven, G.M. Guarnieri, Seth Auberon (eds.), Wisdom QuarterlyFor some, there's nothing subtle about it. |
We look nothing alike, you sonofa$#*&@! |
The Second Coming
This dimwitted dotard is Genocidal Joe Biden. FOR SALE (car not included). |
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Tweedledum versus Tweedledee (again) |
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The Second C*mming?
The wizards cannot hear the Wizarder;
Economy falls apart; the middle cannot hold;
Myriad anarchists are loosed upon the streets,
The blue-Dim tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
Are full of a fatty consistency.
Surely a Second C*mming is at hand.
A Second C*mming! Hard are those strokes out
When a vast image of a Brass Monkey
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the hands of this dessert
A shape with a feline body with the face of a man,
A gaze blank and as androgynous as the sun,
Is moving its American thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of MAGAotty dessert-less crows.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That the previous twenty minutes of stoned sleep
Were vexed to reawakening by a rocking rapier,
And what knuckle baby, thrusting breaking into sound at last,
Scrunches towards butter hand to be reborn?
There won't be anything to impeach him on the second time around either. - Mitch McC |