Lex Taylor Poems

Monstrosities needing an uprooting,
Continue appearing in the dead woodbine,
Their scathing and ludicrous disputing,
Out of the edges of any plot line,
...

Deceased, carnal, hostile, western schools of thought,
Rejecting the institutes of the Lord,
With secret personal fear to be outscored,
The laments of the dead this musings have brought,
...

Dead sings of prying complexity,
Kind of impossible to explain.
Vile greed for servilism profane;
It's inferiority's duty.
...

Oh my adored, passing, tourist lassies,
And my model, worshiped, billboard damsels,
With friendly, about town, style that agrees,
And mangler deities, and heartsick angels...
...

The darkness' visages were contrasting,
But dead signs were of love everlasting,
And fragrant of primary's school pure love,
Matchers of obsessions which are lasting.
...

No one could know the untold signs,
So their dead spell did not run cruel,
Its loving, ambiguous accruals,
Went to pass away to the brine,
...

Symphony for the dead fairies,
Composed by the fays exquisite,
With its kindly trust like velvet,
And planar visions of furies,
...

Weary of straying, greatly
I sit on a remote diner
and order a sundae.
Entranced, I bask and reckon;
...

Those tiny blokes with neckties
in gelid offices, confer you
revolutions and umbrage.
I saw the elm, vortex,
...

The years of quiet knowledge cultivation,
Alone, the madness amplification,
Born of a disconnected from reality,
And gone haywire, big imagination...
...