Congregational Conglumerate

[Schlickbart]

Get it out,
write the beat,
Syllables,
three repeat.

Three is six, isn’t it?
Lil’ penis, heavy tit,
immature immaculate,
infantile infinite,
infallibl-y intimite,
that -y made seven,
and down to five,
up here three,
sur-vive,
me.


Get lost in technicalities,
learn from written remedies,
the beauty of these syllables,
Sinuhe and the Syrians,
Gilgamesh or Iliad,
They know what is,
Oh really?
What?
As Buddha in the marketplace,
From Zeusian love to Heracles,
Krishna sings the Bhagavad,
Qur’an-ish words by Muhammad,
leaving the Cave by Plato’s voice,
unafraid of Judas’ choice,
Iscariot is scared but not,
of their guru, grace and god,
Evangelists, those heretics,
Saints and Sinners in their midst,
Medusa and the Narcissist,
is the snake /
mirrored by lake,
or rising up through faith and fate?
surprise strikes true and slays the drake,
no Chakra-Cross nor Trident-Bow,
let Socrates sound:
Oh yes, I know!
that personhood becomes addiction,
that bene dicted work of fiction,
behold proverbial contradictions,
the oh so literal premonitions,
that memories imbue creation,
with felonies in true salvation,
because what has been can not be,
witness uncaused locality,
sea of milk, rivers of ghee,
the future lies unknown to thee,
so Moses stands quite solemnly,
raising their staff majestically,
a whisper echoes eternally,
home is,

where I am,

is free.

[Walther]

hey:

conglomerate.

Cheers W.

[Schlickbart]

Merci

[Walther]

Zitat von Schlickbart

Merci

Pleasure.