And so now it begins, 

a constant angry

and extensive rank and scroll

of rage and charge.

So of always used words and wards.

Heart and soul 

and every poetic truth and cliche.

So cruel in its delivery

So Sweet in reward.

Yet as is and as always,

so uninsightful

yet so.

Shine and mare in bath and baited.

Curious is the fantasy’s truth

and twisted in celebrity and power.

Charged and blocked of the like,

Idiotic in distraction,

blind in rage.

So deaf, so blind in where and what 

and how it was lost.

By the matters of the lost and loss,

and of no more.

A make up so corrupt.

Loves accident

so avoidable,

So of these goddamned poetic constants

of cliche anguish.

What a love and lust and drive did live.

What, and nobody.

Gone and dwelled.

What a sweet divine,

such an ache of joy and the like

and listened listlessly through time.

Sit now, and bare to this tale of the latter rambles.

A tale so of no tale at all

of that of a vicious and joyous and loving 

and the like.

All about so as and as once again same.

A tale so heard before yet

told or scribed.

So please, sit and bare this story

of the inhibitions, of the lustful joys

of woe.