One-two, this ain't true. Written by King Cole.

this poem
is being spilled
from the ragtime
and the seasons
that have never passed
that have never not passed.

I feel organic not
No waves of real sense
The hiccup of electricity
The life in future tense

It kind of rolls about
in syllabes quite stupid
noir letters so liquid
hating while I pout.

on a ten-thousand note
on ten thousand millions
of slushed electric tramways
lies the nothing
the anything at all
kind of nostalgic
kind of allergic at us all
and I'm repeating rhymes
as I repeat letters
as I repeat words
as I repeat semics
yet it's not going to fall
just stand and listen. it is not, it is never.
won't, will not, was not. have not. few tenses for so much time.
a linear function protruding from zero and ending in naught.
a kind of selection coal-burning to the whimsical
or the whimsical is that. I have gone and spread my word.
It was: "No". It was repeated, thousands times before and after.
My saying it only apparent. My prophetics very well stashed, lines and lines of proof against them. It would have had it. As I don't. As you don't. Am I? I'm actually surprised at saying "I". Perhaps a foreing tongue really is the way to go. Always foreign and fictional. Less makes most. Death makes life. The absence of makes the presence grow stronger.
Proper noums.
Proper words.
Proper places.
Proper propers.
Things, not being proper, are to be, simply explained, fucked.
Erotic and non-erotic too.
Our litle war against things.
Our little army of concepts.
Inhumanity vs inhumanity.
All in a pretty funny and colorful disarray.
But this ain't a happy note.
I'm not done yet.
I'm telling you, I'm not done yet.
I'll never be done.
I shall eat your bodies and shit fragments of your collective dreams and lies and souls.
Let the werewolf replace the vampire. Insteand of Strindberg, let's have a pretence of stopping to have. How to say it, in words that don't point at things, in concepts that are only lines playing among themselves like happy-go-lucky little girls.
I'm not done yet.
And it won't stop.
I'd like to set fire on water just for the heck of it.
Now that would be an awesome Jesus.
"There once came a man who tried to liberate them. The sanctimonious crucifixed him."
I'm not done yet.