what is Oktober?

this in chilling remark, forget the picture, and embark on a change in circumstances, across chasms unboundable by some, unfounded by others, and wanted not for, by those in widst in the midst of nothing left on forest floor unnoticable, in this great spanse of agriculture, touching the widest brinks of society, and order, thereon kept and ever shunned, in this; the wilder parts of the jungle, and wildness knows no such dimension of pain, or fear, as for those who torture and belettle this, the ageless paradigm of thoughts, thereonin, within, and this in changing currents tied, back against a shore left unguarded, hereon in on with endless rocky shores, and sanded, therefore on, in midst of Oktober forestways, this in jungle currents across boundless ages of lost cultures, this in lieu of smarter animals not, sure in changing paradigm; the boar does not think, he cannot grow, to be as big and strong as the elephant, beside him, lest he is a pig or four tusked not animal in any regard, and he’s a pig’s nose, but this in life, sureon, are the young, or ageless thought; here in this jungle, that never did he suspect he could not do, as the elephant does, and learn his ways of force, or in this regard, an animal well looked after? Or incorrigable in gay regard for life in other walks, and sureon that he wouldst seeketh a kung fu master only to what, in this, bore and maime and gore? This in life for what thou hadst commandeth; a boar pig does not, not become an elephant in all his bodies and minds, thereonfore, if in elephant kinship, he chooses to keep, and not those of other boar pigs, gone on and having their ways as warthogs, or other animals, of tapir intent and such, that these could be brought to bare as that of a happy hippopotamus, which is NOT, not what the boar could become, in whatever walk or way of life as he choosest, and sure life in this; for what span of lifetime couldst he be measured, always here in well regard, with his friends, the bellowing hippo, or what in fore, why wouldst a hippo not sing, unless he were laying in wait for terror and mayhem, aseth such might the crocodile, were he less to sleauth and horror, in depths unboundable, but set in forth; a happy hippo is one who kills crocodiles, and those alone who do not know why…
       This in life or fortune of mischief, this was gone on in ever more a blatant disregard for size, in our creatures, of this fairest Oktober skies, and gone on, forever more, that this was thoughtless paradise, in sureness fore going Back, and haveyou, this which haveyou, this once, overture, was gone on, away in wind not, for sure soaring of SizE was thought and well looked after, only by those who do not allow trees to grow as they might, and disrupt all earthen forms and peril to held hostage scapes of land in any regarding, but this gone back against this shoreline, fore coast ne’er boundable from one shore to another, in any conceivably similar fashion, fore here is a changing of air tides so profound, this in lieu of closer inspection or low flying, would comest you up against boundlessly high trees, atop mountains, for goodness and sakes, boundless mountains, over mountainscapse, on seas not, but barren earth yet unblemeshed?
Not so in tree roots withstanding on for endless, countable not ages, unparalelled, but zigzagged, back and around, sure rooted, uprooted, broken apart, changed, birthed, witnessed, disregarded not, sure frought with peril not, in lieau of other barren circumstances, this in short regarding was long on gone in for and kept, this way about in life sure gone never on back against this or not a shore inboundable in life in sure swept circumstances, and heard not of this in once a life, sure gone on by and over, in this surring current, back and less in frought with dangers unbinded, or unkempt, sure in, that this was a place of chaos frought and peril not for those who keepest friends as surely as they do enemies, and this was nothing frought against with but an alliance of anarchy against law of any kind, in simple disregard for lack of speceitation, and this regarding, was gone on in a musical timeline, set sure forth against, this life, this scaping back and broken currents gone against an endless shore, but this sure scaping back in more tu  once in a life, gone forever back in blanketed overture, was forth gone against any set current gone against once forth, sure on against this black widow spider, sure in death does she witness fore her company, if you are keeping. Long live the hearth and home of the black widow spiders?
Sure fair to witness not in the right lighting, but this was the curse not of light, in our regard, and the shining back from webs, but sure on in this, kill, all spiderwebs, so they’re kept busy, and so witches of any kind, do not know how to find them,…
this was sure in less the death of us, but witches collect allies as well, and this was poor in fortune and pain for torment unbidden and kept forth, in sureness not alive, but well, and this was death and fortune sure enough and well, and broken back in torment’s tide, was gone in this; our witchy spell,
but this was less, or, rather, a great deal more, than a lion, would have heard, from the lips of a witch, but the lion does not subscribe to your messageboards, in the posting halls, thereon, in your halls of law, e’er shuns does the lioness, in her prowess, for sure in less, she may burn down your cottage, literally speaking, for what she sees you, a witch, bandying about in your chastened circumstances, and sure for in it, the lioness knows to take apart the spider’s web, on sight of it, anywhere, even if you dare not approach it in the midst of its glamour, for attention…
the spider, we mean… the lioness may not approach the widowed spider, in her midst of circumstance, but she wouldst know not, why, you think, she would knot word to kneed and rip apart the very foundation of this witch’s circumstances!
so sure in lieu of hiding, the witch does not know what poison in this life means, for sure she has tortured herself out of witness to barren existences, and this was gone on in fortune against this tide, that in once gone on ever after, was surely meant against none but the wicked, in Oktober, but this in clenched fear or misery not, this timing places in spandless ages, but gone on forever in time, back sure sheltered not in reason, that this couldst be broken back in timing, less in fore to shelter, this life was gone forever under in life or pleasures, this in broken disregarding this in living back in shelter here was snow forth sure in setting blanket whites but sure in shelters gone tu rites was this a jungle e’er and more so snow shouldst work its way on down past trees and shelter sure unkempt, but this was left for less a thatched roof, in shelter, and more a movement from one displeasure to another, or sure in spending; one hallowed night between friends, in this our life and circumstance, so sure in another is the panda, and she is shelter black and mild not, but white fore snow, but this in what she does not hunt, and so she seeks no shelter in camoflauge, and this was barren well’d against in circumstance, for there are no end to wolves who willdst defend the panda’s domain, or sure, wherever she goes, and this was not her life in hallowed shelter, or imprisoned livelihood, for sure no end of wolves may stray however far, and wolf is set forth to kunning, forth sure, the fox knows her hiding grounds well, and sure enough, the panda foxes, o’er ere the red shaded panda, who walk among the bamboo, o’er ere more in sheltered jungle hearths, that this was low regarding sure not in that bamboo is wild and broken apart in other forms of life fore sure it always shares with trees, forth sure, the ents would have you believe bamboo is rather a bit to uppity, but sure in force; question the will of a smart age old tree for sending his friends in shelter of roots, for arms and lifelines, back here on o’er to the coast, to break apart the bamboo forests, against this tithe of unwanting pressure and surest pain in travel and life in color and surety, but sure fire this gone against this world, bamboo will not burn by any other methods than to break it apart while you still have the chance; underground, forever…
This in hallowed life gone forthe on by was sure in spending less this universal dilemna, this question of ages not, but surely gone on forever, that this could be a secret queen of the forest, and she is female only in her regarding of life and pleasure thereon in, do not dismiss the male panda, sure in that they are not there to be dismissed, but sure, regarded, obviously, and sure you’d spent more or less a life loathing bears, and, obviously, but, there in this regarding, do you keep panda prisoner, or do you like to, hang out, or, talk about things?
       Yes and for, I like to munch on bamboo, unless you’re sure that would be gay, or something, but this in life it is gay, if that’s all you ever did for munching, for theirs is a disregard for sex in life gone on after before their mockery of ill intent conceived less in fortunate circumstances, the male panda do not exist on their own unless they have become something of something new, or this in life; a hallowed an ancient guardian, for his panda colors bring friends on the move, far and sure on wider than this or less than sheltered above, and this in sureness with his life, he does not breed with other bears, because he is not one, but sure in less a wolf would be his mate if she sheltered him a hostage fugitive and was mated this for such an occurrence, but this was gone on in after for the and fore, did you not think animals knew the pleasure of sex, for the sake of kinship in all regardings?
This life in sheltered hallow, these wolves would be newborn, sure babes at birth of cubs, but this in their circumstance; they wouldst develop as they saw and breathed and raised with, so sure you have no idea what the bending of a wolf cub’s body will do, when plied over the back and girth of a panda father, sure set in forthe that he would play with the cub, as he doeth play with any young, and this would shape the kung fu of this child, and change, would occur, and this in life, he would still breathe of his wolf mother, but sure on in forthe, he was not a wolf forthe in pleasure of company alone, and gone on forever, was his need to be anything but his mother’s friend and his father’s, too, and his brothers and sisters, if he would have them, and littermates can come in other forms, so sure forthe as well, for a den attracts fugitives not, but refugees some, in small or cute regard, but sure what cub would be turned away, if it were actually cute, and not just, pretending really hard, for it?
This in sureness, elephants don’t, not trample bear cubs, because if you regarded one; and you knew what it was for, this, sure, bait, often, and this was torment, as watching one animal feint a wound, or too appear small and playful, not in surest disregarding of this in sharpness of merit for pain and suffering, but this was gone on forever more, forth that a baby bear is no baby, but a small torturer, and monster, and forth sure the term grizzly, means mutant freak of nature, monster, and this was sureness of Bear come in any size or form for murder and camoflauge, so forthe there are grizzly night bears called panda not, but black bear, or sure grizzly mutant freak of nature, all the same, so forth are the polar bears blanketed in freezing depths unfoundable and whitest blankets of current snow, but sure in death and shelter do they wait fore, in this for hunting, a bear, is a monster of the wood, and as natural as they come, forthe sure, many bear resemble the boar big, more snout in waltz about in gristly intent but sure not in death or ill regard of others? this in torment wanting; a deathbore is a pig, or creature of charging rampage, and a monster of the wood, until it has to actually start climbing through tree roots, ore such, and then it is a bear, for the however many times it breaks its legs, and grows boulder, broken sureness of foot on over again and again, this once moving broken tissue over that once, sure, chase and kill; maime and torture, sure on this endless will and regard for torment on its own self, but this is a monster, and they are tormenters in all regardings, to all kinds, and sure in self for loathing not, kill all spiders, too, when the chance arrises, and the lioness may not wander into a witch’s trappings, but you can crush out of your way not, any spider body that arises in the breadth of your life, sure on in, and break apart the earth to keep it away, if you like for superstition, or in the belief that a spider knows not how to die, in roots, unless they’re well kept set over with dirt and moisture, in which case, the spider becomes a deathworm, eventually, and o’er sure not, it digs its way out, after untold centuries have passed since its demise, and it has died and suffocated a million times over, so ever more it is not the same spider, but sure a ghoul of what death incarnate wanted for, and sure remember that death incarnate to an immortal wood, is only ever a torturer…
sure for breathe of life in blatant broken circumstances mildly waiting broken back in currents tithing changing back in shelters, forthe and wanting this of changing disregarding that once overture in life forthe sure coming on for sure in shelter taken black in mild the weaving sure in webs for the surely sheltered back against this changing current here forgotten here and kept up once in knowing this once back in heard for shelter not in knowing back once overture was here and heard for shelter this was never broken after,!
obsession,, is a poison all on its own, forthe, a spider’s web was never anything but a meticulous deathtrap, and thereon the illusion, with meticulous obsession of weaving once over, over again, and again and again, this way frought with that once over, Here for this once Gone on over,! this was life, for a spider, and what, its beautiful and effective?
this in death for romance not, breathe not of the forest floor still, and witness autumn torn apart asunder by endless corridors of mounds of leaves scathed away, so sure never to become dirt, or anything, but sheltered off and away is the even grass; and this has never graced the presence of Oktober, in its wood, for this in haunted apathetic displeasure was warrant to broken in service of pleasure for this in our wanting, we’ll tear your webs down…
this for shelter broken sure in my own weaving this was gone forthe surely taking this in life forever kneeding this was gone in heard our waving back in shelter gone not far but here, Oktober calls our faire, this in shallowed not circumstances, here heard sure are the birds, this life, sure fired back, this once overture, sure sure, this overture, this living black and milde not, right? this mild not, this mild, not so so this once so so, this once so so…
we kill that bird too…
this in life, fortune spent anot,! sure though, this was broken arrows havingk back! this life, gone gone away, sure, this blue bird, so sure in broken what’s in naming bluebird bluebird, blue blue blue? who who? who are yooouu?
this is forthe a life we are protecting, this in no one shelter, but shelter in the company of friends, ever in more and different wild shelters grantable only in this balance of chaos and good against evil, e’er on the spider is protected by laws not, sure and spent, in death does he depart this order’d not circumstance and lo and behold, frightened cultures that shun the wild forest’s edges become stagnant fast, and fear not the spider’s web, ‘fore twas not in the village, after all… this is how fore, one dies a thousand thousand torturous deaths, in his own shelter not, but his currant of poetic injustices, sure forth that real injustice in your cultured village, safe and frought with torment, but not actual spiders, until a witch or mischief brings one in, that is, or a scorpion, but that this wasn’t not a scorpion here that could kill a spider?
No, we don’t, not like it when scorpions kill the spider, but just,quick! while he’s distracted;! that spider’s fucked up and that scorpion’s distracted,! fucking,killit! kill itRightnow!
You smash them, by the way, or shooshe them away from whatever they were working on torturing the shit out of, for as long as it has legs, seriously, when the scorpion runs out of torture spikes, into your corpse, its because nobody’s watching, and your body wasn’t resembling legs, any longer, you see?
       they don’t have any fun torturing snakes, all that badly, but this was gone on forever, for the scorpion will fukk up a snaek, and this sanaake, will taaketh, not thisss, power, back, ssure, sure, thiss, back, sure, sure, vaILE!
this was a witness of cunning of hunt, or, of the age old vamprey;Vam-PYRE? This is a snake, in some forms, not, but all, sure in, the snake is a vampyre, this a corner lurker, and ivy wanter, a gross grass having not in jungle shades sure unbidden, but this was not a cultured land, and so ivy is broken apart so sure that it can grow elsewhere, and be useful, actually, for climbing things, over which on and with, that ivy was meant for climbing,! this, high, story,! sure fire, this, broken back, and away, evermore,!
this bonobo, you know not of, in general, for he is a person, himself, this, bonobo chimpanzee not, for the and sure, the panda is not a bear, and wears his colors, to prove it, for his power is not in death and mayhem from previously sheltered camouflauge, but in life unfound in left morthe sure this, sure, back in apathy not, this, climbing chimpanzee not, but a bonobo ape, this wanton creature, sure is too sexy, in the apathetical sense of cultured worlds stunted in bravery across cultural bindings, but this in his life, he does not care what you think about how many sexes he goes for, fag, but this was gone on forever, and sure in love and life; he is not careless, with his friends and partners, who the hell would be? there’s spiders, on the terraces,!
       set these, spiders and their venomous makings, are not the same sure toxins as of the battletoads, sure in their lives, this broken back circumstance! this, broken,! this, broooken!
they will kill you, SO fast…
you don’t even move, when they do it; because, they have slowed down time, for your movements alone, and not their own. Do NOt, keep to a clicking watch in the jungle; let the rhythm of the forest, guide you, and sure, hail not, the hypnotoad, he is your greatest enemy on sure two feet; heard a listening to these sounds, so sure, break apart your rhythm if a toad’s cricked has scared you slow, in interest, forthe sure, crickets and frogs are as fast as they care to be, to say something into the night, or, more than likely, to their friends happening by, if you’re a forest friend, or a tree frog, and not some evil poisenous toad, or sure in shelter, toads don’t not have anatomies that will fuck you up, for thinking to consume their flesh for power, or something, as doeth the giant bats, that plague the tree frog pressures that gather only in a ceaseless rage of death and destructions, in which the toads have supplied ample fertilage for broken families and unheard of dismay in culture and torment, sure in forthe set, toads will only gather in greater numbers than any dismayed can handle, but, if you don’t leave, they’ll poison the shit out of you, and die doing it, too, or,,, not, forthe sure on in, they are spiritual animals, and often glow, in the right circumstances, and sure forth the glowfly that cannot turn it off, is a liar, and a burning fiend, to be quashed and witnessed dying, forthe sure in this life not against the rest, forthe sure and against it, there are words to describe always, one such firefly as could light your skin to melting or burn a thatched roof down, if you don’t keep it well moistened, like it’s alive, or something,,…
       This was gone on forever under this in hallowed ground forthe sure this life was lighted not; that no such animal fairs to exist without good reason to mess people up, with hot light of fire and torch, so sure there are a great many animals, like the lioness with her lighted branch from the witch’s own bonfire, setting fire to her cottage, while she’s out bandying about like some glamoured up smunk, or somethingk mild, like that… but sure, many animals know how to move fire, from one place, one life, to the next, and many more macaque are banished when they bring fire in their ways, but a bonobo, like this one, climbing, still, on this ancient ivy, to escape a burning forest, below, he is holding a torch, as well, or, his young friend is holding it, but, this was not so, for he was alone, in this yet, and would not find his friends again until he made some, up here, and sure, thought fire might be used atop the mountain not for starting, but for weilding, and he has seen it used in countless ages, and often more in his dreams, or daydreams, waking memories, drug trips, when he takes of different toxins not, but poisons still yet not, for sure in this, he can get high, when he talks to plants, with fire, and he is quite literally in all senses high right now, climbing far above this raging jungle fire, below, sure, broken smoking and setting above, through sheer force of will, not, but in hallowed wanting of torch or brush, but this wood hereonin has become a murkwood, and is olde and tired, and wanting of fire, forthe sure it is the cespool of spiders’ cultures, thereon in their webs, that break apart the torment not, but the pleasure of sex in all regards, through all nonexistant lines of specietations, but sure on in this, there are enemies and friends, allies, sure, among both, or layered allies, in the forms of friends, each fighting the cause against the spiders’ webs, sure their circumstance, in this a new and knowing way, that this could be tied to all our jungles left in broken trenches not, but this sure fire was broken here apart and her sure fire was broken not in spite of us but This sure fire was broken not apart from all that This sure fire was sure in hate regarding that this Torch I bear, was broken back in timing taken Here for shelter, granted back in apathy for This in sureness broken back in torment taken This was never set before in life regarding…
this bonobo has lit so many points throughout this, aged murkwood not, but sure near fire forest, of younger growth, that what is old and dead and murky will burn away, and the scarred bark is just bark, to all, so sure the alive trees will stay that way, always, and ever broken are you by the deception of living wood, in a world drawn apart by torment between life and death, for sure on in, sex across boundaries, forthe sure, there are not any boundaries for this bonobo, but he will club you, and beat you to death, literally, if you wrong him in a way that exposes you as a mutant freak monster intent on killing and raping and torturing his eternal life of the Oktober forest, his forest, and his lifeblood and fortune and fame in writings not but of legends told from friends to one another, or sang for in sexual intercourses betwixt lovers of sex and fortune in all walks and flighting patterns not, but living breathing sureness gone on ever more, in this for sure in sexy pleasure taken back in torment, this well worn path beaten back in mild regarding forthe sure on set; the hummingbird, by light of day, will save you sure in gracéd presence of the hypnotoad, this in life sure on in before, watch the beating wings not, but hear the HUMMING of the humming bird, and wicked split fast you’ll become, if evil you are not, but sure in death upon this life, the fairies love to pretend to be the flightless hummingbirds, always patterned in hovers over ground, sure, and obsession has driven their wingbeats to this degree, but the hummingbird will sing, and feed only if its fun, to do so, and not as a kept pig starved from a troubled trough, and sure in garbage you could bring to your garden, but better to let honeysuckle bring its friends; children and hummingbirds, sure in this both will wait to taste the sweetness of the nectar, for different this as does to that, and once before in lieu of that, honeysuckle does not keep from fair away without barronessing and processing, but this was gone on evermore in life, that a hummingbird’s song will change the flavours, sure soeth you can taste as fast as you like, in the drip or drop you take of the honeysuckles, but this in sure on loathing, honey suckle cannot be hoarded and kept uwild, or sure it will dry up, and sure if kept away from children needing what, to feed? Or to listen to the hum of the bird as it gives baring to the witness of these, the fellowed footsteps of a friend, and, they’re not annoying, if you feel them right, you know, but, you’re going to have to abandon the metronome ticking in your pocket, for this, that life could be boundless in its dimensions of time, and fairies will torment and belittle you, and sure in life, there are many fortitudes a hummingbird would not brave, just to wow and amaze you, often, I mean, and sure often more, you would not know the difference, if so deprived of real magic, you were, in your spiders’ webbed cultures, this place in mild disregarding, for sure if you are different and wild, what in for was your long lost heritage in this or forgotten on for sure in useless banterings against this hallowed shore? If you have culture, a wichty spider, or, a venemous whore, can belittle you with mutterings about it for sure on centuries whilst you think you’re being beguiled not, but entertained, or bearing the brunt of pleasant cultural laws in how disgusting you used to find that tramp, but now she’s gone and breathed word that you’re unseemly for anything but her, into so many watchpoints of your cultural knowings, they you’ve gone and become a heathen, without ever knowing you were evil, this whole time, so sure in this, be wild not, unless you seekest only in sex and fruits borne and care given in the projection of this fruited valor, that this life was gone on for this; enemies, and friends, and some friends who look like enemies to keep your friends who aren’t friends, looking stupid all the time, for not fucking you up like that, or sure on in, there is good, and there is evil, but sure, there are spiders, and bears, and snakes in the grass, or the trees, or the garbage pails, and, what in fore, was the raccoon digging out of the garbage, anyway, cultured boy? Was it yours? Does it attract bears? Did you know that, before you sealed it away, and now, some ageless circumstance has led to a friend of the bears, unlatching your fabled indispensable garbage deathtrap?
       No the witch will put a spider in your house and home, or more many, or under your sister’s bed, or beneath her pillow, or on it, and they will work in cahoots for torture unbidden, because the witch gets no more pleasure from torturing spiders, she does it all the time, and the witch has been bitten and poisoned so many times, its likely she’ll stay an ugly old hag forever, until she abandons one glamour for another, or refuses to keep company with spiders for some time, sure she’ll surround herself in poisons of every different make and glamour, until you’ve reached the fabled good witch queen, this in her knowing and wanting, this was hers for taking, this was sure in breaking, backs and torment not unbound but this was fortune surely found and scared away, for sure in finding less was certain more’s for minding, this was spiders’ web anot, but these were lies told and forgot, but sure what fairiy doest thou hide? I’m wanting, wanting!, so give it to me, now!
Sure break her apart… get uncultured, unsure not are you in this, witch’s hate it when you don’t believe in their cultured lies, and sure spot evil like; I’d never have sex with that in a million years, but, I’ve just done so, by imagining that as a person, that evil creature, but sure on in this, in a moment, do I decide; spider or friend? One, or the other? Liar or fiend? Chauvenist, or traditonalist? Did you think we were doing opposites, by now? Why? Did you think there were rules, you cultured prick? This was life gone ever more in thorns sure kept back and wanting this in scores, but sure in this this culture is untamable, these cultured youths are young forever only when the fading there exists in fortune circumstances granted that the one, protect the other, and so the other can be free to live and extend beyond all bounds in sexual intercourses, and so sure and tired are the broken down friends we’ve borne, but in youth forever gone on in this in sex and happiness, that this was a broken paradox not, but one of mayhem and fortune, spread so far as any sense can happen to imagine, and this was surely this broken boar here on the beach, bitten and maimed by a bear, but this, hark wait, was this a chance to save this broken animal? Sure in this, if you have, dehumanized all animals, then you will refuse to acknowledge the presence of evil, among any of them…

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741