ArthaVedaRitis

[Guest guest]

I got Artha-Veda in my arth-a-writ-edict

Brandished brittle light bones.

Turn on the Light! I might

Arth-a-rid. . . Eeekkk…! rat on God...

 

 

In the Tam-a-reekage of arth-a-rittic aha

Ogle-google gotten was the cosmic cotton

of ripe

country-funk art of Veda-red,

Bheda-read rights

of red and Purr-Pull dick dickin’ me around

and around through towns and cyber-bars

that starred Sham-stud Shams

shaming gaming in the begrudged

bodybeautiful-boffo

bagged

in ragged bones that groan…

unto the Guha “Nyaaa!”

 

 

I needed needs to be needed

and kneaded as neat-meeting greeting

of God to God in Love with Love’s forms,

even and always, Love

as the deformed adornments of Omkar inkings.

I inkle that my swollen ankles are Avadhuts

doing time and space in the joint.

 

 

Art of ridiculous arthritic suffragette

Jet-puffed Left-over Saami savant gallantine

Halfway Haunted

Stairwell wanted

Valley vaunted vault of faultless

Fraying in decaying

In the density of the immensity

of Dharmic D’Ohtage destiny –

 

 

Dram a drama operatives…

Operated on over, way over the thirty-leaf clover

Clipped from the grip of time;

Shredded tendon-cries of red-neck dundancies

That Ember-glowing showed bonetically

My Being stuck in Shiva’s teeth,

Tersely tearing down this body-world

With munchables of Maha Kali

Doing maintenance and destruction

In Valley of Shadow verse,

While chinking the chicken’s

pelvic

Persuadance with charm

Chisel-Churned from cadaveric dancers on ice.

 

 

Popped back in from out, this silver ball and mount

That brings about a holy shout of bone-breaking prayer…

 

Read me my rites, read my writes, write me a bone

White body that bears the marks

of Manjusri, my D’Oh and Ow Doc,

Ad hoc and pro bono, you know the onus

Of how Hari and Hallaj-y-types might

Hand-pump perfection into infection…

 

 

a New Directive decreed on crumbled knee:

Divine-Love bites for babies born to break the bondage

Montage of a Most Mimicried Uma

whom Ma upholds

in stainless steel statecraft - Ayur-Veda ...

 

 

Suchness sets forth medicine and health

In the wealth I wear in Arthritis-Ideals;

originals

In sin and sin-less and some less more

than more Or less confessed to Tibia-Arius.

 

Veda means knowledge, Allah-ed Apauruseya.

Not mask-mediated marvels,

but spirit-gimicked garbles

Of vedas and arthas in divide

into sides of some got more and better

and some are fodder-fettered bottom-feeders

needed only, feeded only for some

to untouch and to avoid...sruti smriti

smut of someone stuck in the hillabilly-hucked

rucksack of “Awe they Write Us!”

Ride of La Di Da’s emotional-sexual contraction action

in ancient Artha-Veda re-track-scion

stuck in stumps to bloom

as karmic-calibrated

cash in and cash out,

clout cleverly and flout flavorly

and shout sushumnically out

unilogically, unilegitimately

as an argument about cause and effect.

 

 

I expect I’ve arth-arched the idea of a done-to-er

More bluer and boohoo-er than it is.

‘Cause it isn’t.

Unpleasant or anti-essence or counter-resonance…

 

This Arthritic clip is clapping in clamor,

in glamour and Goddess-glitz

As we sits in the fire of Veda-fed

Bheda-head

burning

In believing that this body,

this Magnificent

Marvelous Beautiful

Astonishing Stunning

Come-Hithering Spirit-Slithering little slip

Of a body

brown-bagging God for lunch in Arthritic Crunch

is somehow not up to Snuff (huffin' up our beliefs).

 

 

Chump change made me what I am today.

I was a chump

And change made me face

The unfaceable facts of this Cool Drool-Drawing

Disease-Dazzled Dharmic Darling

Starring in and staying in ‘til the end

and the curtain

Goes down…

 

 

On these most perfect,

these most pure and patty-cake

Clapping hands drifting in

Ulnar dreaminess

To point to a dot in the eye-flecks of Wildest Yonder

That this life of Artha-Veda

versionary visionary vampagement,

Was stamped with the Ar(i)thMe-Tick of Awe,

Unequalled in digits that have no beginning nor end.

 

 

Artha-Veda Mazie made a crazy poem of going

While being, Home, Alone and lucid on the Liquid

Love Lapping Hands That Have Smacked her as Arthur

And I-tuss-le through the night of Burning Pyres.

 

 

She will mix the potion with her own hands.

 

 

LoveAlways,

Mazie Find out everything you need to know about Las Vegas here for that getaway.