Valley shot of the terrace view, the people who, commence to paint the canvas of societal truth, through intro’s new, straightened askew, time and time again, through immemorial plains and grains and waves of ethanol
Such games, put plainly, across the neck of the Sergeant of Time
marking the passage of crime into normality.
Until the end of days, where Savior and Sinner, alike, are the same,
in the sunset of the Valley

The stalls of the Guillotine are flooding as the moon rises on the shores of the land
Clown’s dream-like inspiration in the palm of the desperado’s hand
Sand shall sing of the time it was born rock, phantom energy obliterating a clock,
and boats filled with books, signed by flowers past, burned by Saviors at the docks.
Until the end of night, where God and Devil, alike, are the same,
in the sunset of the Valley

Ivory stone and Ebony mannequin of majority rulings
breathe, live, and die upon the bourgeois ceiling
in Russia, U.S.A., such North Korean dealings,
dividing the multiples of the soul’s of the nations.
Nobody cries, until end of night, born into sun, alike,
are the same,
in the sunset of the Valley

Bright Fame-boy and Gift From God-woman walk L.A. highways and byways in Love,
so far-flung from the dung of living
Pawn shop Priests and cash loan Deities run speakeasy’s of the soul freely
Tire blown on prom night for King and Queen and bloody nose suddenly
symbolically
signal creation of unification fleetingly
by the loss of virginity for both, equally, with no shame!
in the sunset of the Valley

Father and Son hold the gun
to Sister and Mother as
Brother and Cousin run the fun of the occasion
they call the season of unabashed incestual intellectual masturbation
at the Redwood dinner table at the East Coast Castle,
passed from dead white Matriarch and drunken business King,
tenants and remnants of ages old in stories told
by white hooded gentlemen and aristocracy alike,
as they are the same,
in the sunset of the Valley

Standpipe bubbles of rainbow designs
and gray newspaper baptisms in recognition
of the human yet to come:
Born from streets, to the highest heights of Kingdom!
Hark!
The rich will die poor!
The poor always want more!
Yet, the streets are plain,
unyielding in the designs of the winter winds
that summer months will become!
They are both alike, our death perfectly begun,
in the sunset of the Valley

The breast of the Mountains claim the Earth with swords
sharpened, tightened, fastened,
against the impassioned delusions of Pumpkin King
who wished to Make Himself Great Again
Such a tune to come with new noon of day in a way to state confusion so great!
A breakaway of a levee
a loss of dignity
a crime against humanity
to tear a babe from its family!
Slaves, Politicians, the same,
so alike,
in the sunset of the Valley

Red valley rose and Salesman son from Tucson
travel to Mexico in the hopes of finding the ghost,
the passion they tied to the post in the rainforest of young love
Bodies of coal, found deep, greet diamond becoming through pain and time’s rhyme
in the climate of such dedicated time spent loving
Hark!
The son’s of the Sun are a-sleeping with Mother,
all alike, all together
in the sunset of the Valley

Sandbag eyes, chiseled chin-grin meet the eyes of the skies on new day born
as Baby walks jelly streets with feets in ironclad sheets with such defeats!
Let me tell you, fool!
The pool of identification is filled with intoxication, vivisection, and side glancing dancing visions!
For the Profit has died and died again:
Jesus be made of Sin born from within, like you,
both alike,
in the sunset of the Valley

Breathe into me!
Breathe into you!
Perhaps the claps of the Gladiators signal the mission of the Colosseum
of modern day minute-made business men?
Ken and Sven who won and win in the New York winter wind
until the end of time
Yet, Lady Clarissa and her sister Marissa miss the tiara they won as girls,
crying X’s and O’s
as they got Oh’s from the boys in fashionable clothes at the time
Perhaps the Devil and God are alike?
in the sunset of the Valley

Emerald wet Titan Kingdom ruled by whispering vapours
throughout the bodies of creatures crawling
to seek the Lamp of the Destroyer,
never speaking but driving on!
Such clocks!
Made of Sun in flight from Heavenly piles across the realms of Hellish miles
that swell from chainsaw smiles,
eating and eating skins upon which I write these terms
Worms have more dignity than I,
as we are alike,
in the sunset of the Valley
(such Amazonian regions, Monroe, CT, momentarily)

Dali tricked me into thinking stability is reality whilst
riding a train in the rain to view Shelley drown
with a pound in his hands upon Egyptian sands
Emerson gloated with Thoreau in a borough in New York
as Burroughs shot Opium in Central Park whilst,
exclaimed Euclid, “Geometry  is poetry!” dressed in complete nudity
Such sights behind my eyes as
Casanova died and Aphrodite cried,
both alike,
in the sunset of the Valley

Dylan speaks in dreams with Guthrie upon hulls of ships set on the Sea
Blasted blues rhythms, hymns, verses!
Such tranquility is anarchy to me
Firework idea: fuse born in passionate rain-like uterus Goddess upon midnight shores
Match man: ignition, builds bricks, flowers, and starlit dunes under moons of
beautiful women from across oceans
Breath, as is Death,
are alike
in the sunset of the Valley

Sunshine risen Asian male in the street pale
Midnight purple African soul before you
Earth-life brown Indian girl, her smile swirls
Latino piano Prince and Latina diamond dancer
yet,  Anglo-Saxon Snow Man hides in plain sight,
dear and clear with fear of the global pie in which they shall die,
subconscious privilege, whether they know or not!
No experience yields no affect upon the soul that inherits you
I make sure to never be too sure
as patterns and ignorance are alike
in the sunset of the Valley

Conversations with my God, who wears orange hood and dresses good, bespectacled with age and youth,
constantly dying, being born in fields of oversized shoes
Brothers, we meet, friends, we leave, me to Heaven, and It, to the streets
Of myself, I am nothing, I am just you
Mirror illusion of descriptive collusion and fusion
I am nothing but air
Nothing and Everything are alike,
at least at sunrise,
in the sunset of the Valley

Theories of Relativity and sensitivity upon my soul
bring the stings of the strings which blossom my desire upon the world I see...

In the hallways of the World,
such twirling and swirling of Earthlings command the rain to turn solid in the vision of those who wish to revolt!

Against Reason! Against Rhyme!
Against anyone who claims facts are right or alike to Universal Knowledge!
For in the sunset of the Valley, they do not exist
They are not Reality

Time spins, Time wins, eternally
Pirated possessions claim the seasons of my heart, the verse of daemon in Church,
Sacrilegious beneficiary to mankind is my tune march,
a dirge, a surge, a merging of colliding questions upon the Shores of Distance... fading so fast, my dear brothers and sisters!
So fast...
Fading into the wind of Gal Gadot’s beauty,
Israeli Goddess and American Politics mix the cocktails drunk on ghost ships
throughout my horror hallway of a past

Beauty upon eyes is born into busted lives of assumed Ego and blasted mindsets
Ugly is comfortable to call, as it comforts the children of insecure nations

Standards!?
What of these “Standards”?
Dignity?
No Romeo, no Juliette,
go home to the Kingdom of the Sea

Humankind is a slaughterhouse dancer:
Such tenderness mixed with marshmallow flamethrowers.
A homosexual child is born with Cancer
The answer to all is:
what is the answer?