If the Bacchae couldve dreamt of our wrecking wracking lust, it would have destroyed them with jealousy.
Tiresias could never have entwined; could never have BECOME and transformed and engulfed and devour as we.


Down with the false idols of sensuality and passion.

Aphrodite is a roadside ****
Cupid: a fat, sickened child
Mother Hera is nothing but a jealous *****.

I lay down my cigarette fire sacrifice. I lay down my vanity and gladly offer a blood sacrifice of myself. All for me. To worship your body. Your lips. Your holy flame.

Hey, I've got an idea.

Let's wrap ourselves around a staff. Naked and entangled. Let me give praise to our passion.
Worship me

Billy Shakes: poetry! Tis nothing but the product of vile fantasy, a pox on art and the cogitation of righteous men.

Billy Wordsy: And though with poetesses I often lie, my hate of the poem I cannot descry

Em Dicksdaughter: i had no time for,--
Poetry as once I thought--
Words puzzling leads to nought--

Langs Huwed: when you see words on a pa-
Ge I will kindly ask misters and misses that they remember MY work. My so-
Ng. That the workers may not write ... to the weary sax toon of fanatic reds.

Sylvie Path:a shock of light Pierces an empty **** coach corpse
Flowers shudder at the thought of the hateful word: Poetry

DD Goings: a poet slapped my(****** whole )face once and i(neverlikingpoetry) strapped him with dynamite.