sonnet
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I attract CIA attentionWith everything I tweet.I know it. It was proved to me.They have their eyes on me.This really doesn’t bother me.They’ve threatened me before.When I said that “God has me.”It silenced them once more.
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We hear about conquistadors but not the men who did the scalpingWho blamed it on the natives as excuses to do more scalping.We hear of human sacrifice but not Jesuit mass murder.The military arm of the Church.The Word is the Sheepherder.
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Was running from the Cops one dayIn Brian Eno’s hood.I had no other place to goSo I ran through his woods.And ran up to the gated entrancePressing on the key.“I’m running from the Cops, Mr. Eno.Please come rescue me.”Minutes later he emerged.The sight was sort of odd.He said, “I’ll bore you all to death with…
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They try to propagandize me by playing to my empathy,But I am catching on to thee, you feds posing as media. And all of you blue check weirdosWith numbered names with no zeroesI prefer my x’s with my o’sAnd no encyclopedia.
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Pope propagandaIs more than I can stand.From Bishop AMANDAThat once was A MAN.The Patriarchs love little slaves to The Crown.They dress them all up in absurd robes and gowns.
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I have to practice silence.Not natural to me.I make so much damn noiseThat I can hardly seeThat I am not this person.I’m something that’s beyond.And nothing here can stopThe journey that I’m on.
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I am still editing this thing. It is tedious. “In the Style of Emily Dickinson” It strikes me as profound, I toil at it all day, Yet so few of the multitude Hear anything I say. Perhaps with death’s cruel fate Delivered on mine head My words will meet the multitude. Alas, but I’ll be…
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Don’t give in to fear, my dear.Fear will just confuse you.Bet on God, the odds are largeHe’ll never simply use you.If ever you think you have strayedOr forget the path’s divine.Remind yourself mentallyAnd let your own light shine.
Musings of the Mad 