Ha-ha! The Wolf is Back!

The Sexy Sheep of the Musical Universe in the Sky!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I procreate with all the space aliens in the universe!
And later my babies are ten-thousand screaming-sculptures-of-poetry!
And then I impregnate all the sheep in Montana!
And my tidal waves of spermatozoa splashing over Montana
makes all the sheep happier than licorice tornadoes!
And all the sheep of Montana
and all the space aliens of the universe
and the horny Poet
together create a menage-a-trois of music
that lullabies all the cannibals to sleep!
Even the piano touches my naked skin!
And the harp kisses me with flying vaginas!
Because the poetry is thousands of sheep calling to Wolf for lovemaking!
And I love the sheep!
Do you love the sheep
as much as I do???

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

The grasshoppers with Huge Testicles Singing Opera Together!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Ding-dong-yoppy-zoooonggg!
Let's Pray to the spermatozoa in our ballsacks!
Flip Flop hoppy-zoongy-now!
Because now we pray to our Spermatozoa Gods in the music!
Zick-zok to your boOouncing eyYeeballs!
Especially to all the people riding HUGE insects around!
That's why I drink television sets on Tuesdays!
When the Roman soldiers arrive here on the spaceships
to sing nuclear war for us!
Even the giraffes in outer space know that we are doomed!
Doomed as a hundred decapitated heads singing on a shelf together!
Do you love me?

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen





https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dt50...Iuc3wE&index=8

Thousands of drunken-space-aliens daaancing on the Head of My Penis!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Sing the house music to the cRaCk-cOcaiNe-kanGarOOs!
Sing drunken skies to all the dinosaurs!
Jump the tropics up into bright colors ****ing across the centuries!
**** the galaxies into each other -
Until Your Penis is dripping with thousands of forms of literature!
**** your poems into your blow-up doll
while she sings space alien operas to you!
Strawberry operas!
Strawberry operas that create millions of Michelangelos floating around you in spacesuits -
Because I am a ghetto booty!
I am a giant dancing apocalypse
at the end of your tongue!
Even your ears taste delicious!
Your thousands of vaginas floating on other planets
is the reason I do a very sexy algebra
with my very sexy blow-up-doll,,,
I lOve the days & nights when the squirrels in the park
sing your pink vagina operas to me...

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Humongous Pubic Hairs are Growing out of all the Walls Around Us!!
a poem by the Blueberry Prince of Sperm Wolf Larsen

Caligula is a penis god!
So Tomorrow Caligula will bless Chicago with Roman Orgies!
Even the traffic lights love Caligula!
Because the electric Caligula in the sky
is dancing to the house music in our genitals!
Our great spermatozoa crash into ALL the other planets!
And each & every one of us writes our own sexY-bibles-of-siN!
And we all create our own sexy gods & goddesses!
Poetry is liberation!
Poetry is orgies
under the watchful eye of a smiling god called Wolf Larsen
Sitting on His mighty throne before the human race...

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

I Steal god!
a poem by the Great Transvestite-Vampire-Emperor Wolf Larsen

I put all all the tornadoes on a leash and turn them all into my pets!
I Wolf Larsen am the god in your testicles!
I am the reason that the planet earth is the greatest spinning testicle!
I eat the entire human race
and then I **** the entire human race out of my ******* and into the toilet!
I am the greatest Penis!
I am a Penis!
I am Wolf Larsen!
I am The Conductor of a symphony of billions of souls!
I am The Composer of the Symphonies of Insane Asylums!
My-hand-&-My-Penis is a symphony of sailboats crossing the Sahara Desert
on their way to Your Pussy!
All the spermatozoa in my ballsack sing to the Greek Gods!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen


Here I Wolf Larsen turn surrealistic literature into comedy!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Um09tCeWGnU

Hardhat, Sledgehammer, & Pen!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

All the dogs on the planet are hooooowling together...
As the saxophone plays guillotines across the world going up-&-down!
And then the tulips in Holland
wrap around the skyscrapers in Chicago -
And the bass starts to discuss politics with all the birds in the sky -
and boonga-boom-boom-dippy-WOW -
with all the waterfalls of words
splashing through my rented room...
And the skyscrapers touch my genitals!
The strawberries jump out of my penis!
And impregnate the polar bears in Alaska!
And the sky kisses our dogs & cats -
As the bass runs around & around the steel mills
And the piano plays Russian Roulette with French Royalty -
as the guillotine sings...
And the sky screams....
And Workers Revolution jumps out of the saxophone!
On the eve of the Anniversary of the Great Bolshevik Revolution!
May the whole world be bathed in Great Bolshevik Revolutions!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Joe McCarthy Kissing All Our Asses
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Joe McCarthy kisses the saxophone player's ***!
As the drums play e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g CRASHING into pieces -
And the saxophone player simultaneously stands on thousands of planets
and plays a HUGE canVaAas that swalloOOows your braAAaaAAaaiiiiin -
And the piano is playing a rabid dog running-upside-down-in-circles-on-your-ceiling 24 hours a day -
and the bass is throwing the hoOordes of Genghis Khan
chaaaaarging across the 21st Century -
and the music is circling-&-circling-around-&-around
a collapsing city a collapsing world a collapsing universe -
and the Saxophone SCREAMS with the French & Russian Revolutions
splaaashing across the pages
splaaashing across the canvasses
splaaashing across the symphonies...
While the trumpet plays the eulogy of the ruling classes
doomed to stand in line at the guillotines...

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

I am the center of the universe!
a poem by the Hardhat god his Blue Collar majesty Wolf Larsen

I float in the center of the universe...
and I write the poem that charges across history!
I write the music that throws the planets & suns & moons around!
I paint the most rabid canvas!
I bathe in rivers of god's spermatozoa!
I stand above god's corpse and I write this poem with god's blood!
I sodomize all the priests & preachers!
I am Wolf Larsen!
I make even the Devil blush!
Then I sodomize the Devil!
The asteroids & comets fly out of My Grand Penis -
And thus I impregnate all the arts
with My Insanity which is as golden
as my pee falling upon the ruling classes of the world
as I stand in a hardhat on the top of the skeleton of a skyscraper
that I & my brothers build with our hands
our great hands
the same hands
that will strangle the rich some day

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aH1URnyU7h0

What the Angry Man on the Subway is Thinking...
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Hundreds and then thousands and then millions and billions of me's
All jump
out of My Penis & my ears & my nose & my mouth -
And all the billions of me's
Simultaneously sing out the most furious hurricane together!
And then I open the doors of the borders
And I let foreigners in my own country!
I am Proud to be a Traitor!
To a nation that has only treated me & my ancestors worse than dogs!
I urinate all over my nation's capital!
I eat all the politicians!
I wipe my *** with my nation's flag!
I write my nation's national anthem with vomit!
I spit on the rich!
My refrigerator is empty so I will eat them!
I will eat their dogs & cats too!
I smile at all the bourgeois heads soon to be on sticks!
Let them sing to me!
As their decapitated heads are paraded through the streets
in the happiest-most-massive-parade of singing-&-dancing you've ever seen!
Anything's better than marching off to endless war & mushroom clouds!
And I spit all over the elections of Tweddledee & Tweddledom!
All these politicians are just whores of the rich!
I work all week
To live worse than a dog!
I am dying inside -
I have nothing to lose -
And everything to gain -
When I welcome 1789 with open arms!
And I joyfully dream of when the guillotine will sing it's up-&-down motion
in my country
and yours!
Goodbye bourgeoisie!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!
The angry man on the subway is now smiling...

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Incest on the Space Station with Three Donkeys!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I sing with an orchestra of wild animals behind me!
The ten million Poets in my ballsack are also singing!
And the birds in the sky **** their talking art all over the space aliens in our brains...
While the grape & pineapple armies attack each other under the ten smiling suns in the sky.
Because the ten smiling suns in the sky are my reason for flying the raspberries to other hemispheres!
For magic mushroom symphonies in ten different colors!
While the orchestra of wild animals sing in the languages of testicles & nipples & booty holes!
They sing the marshmallow abyss!
And the poem tiptoes away from me....

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

A World That Ate All The People
A poem by wolf Larsen

I was running through the blue sky
I was tasting the blue sky
I was dancing to blue-sky-music
The blue sky is flying all around me
Even the people are becoming infected with blue sky
And the machetes flying through the air are laughing with blue sky
While the subway train flys up to heaven
And all the passengers getting off the train in heaven are devils
And all the devils are fornicating masterpiece theater with the angels
And all the angels are dancing to the mushroom clouds
And all the mushroom clouds are dancing to Wolf Larsen's poetry
And Wolf Larsen’s poetry is boiling & boiling in the ballsacks of all the space aliens on all the planets...
And then the subway train laughed and laughed
So I rode a lightning bug all the way home...


Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Somebody Lost Their Brains in the Milky Way Galaxy
A poem by Wolf Larsen

I walk through millions of heads
Looking for my own head!
Meanwhile, symphonies jump out of the strangest places -
Symphonies jump out of street corners -
Deranged-smiling-people jump out of the symphonies...
Even our heart attacks are happy

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Christmas on a Nuclear Submarine
A poem by Wolf Larsen

I watch myself dying on the cross
As a bunch of dogs dance around me
And homeless people put giant dildos with ribbons on them
At my feet
As I sing television commercials
To all of the pigeons perched on my head
Sometimes, when I'm dying on the cross
Space aliens come from McDonald's
And give me blowjobs
But this only happens on Saturdays when Santa's spermatozoa is green
Santa likes to take the subway to the vagina of Mona Lisa
Ever since that Mona Lisa painting was moved from the Louvre to Burger King
Where all of my burgers are seasoned with God's spermatozoa
Because God is a Jackson Pollock painting of a crack ho’s brains
And that is why I came inside of you today…

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen


God Gave Me Herpes
A poem by Wolf Larsen

I ejaculate pagan gods all over the Christmas tree!
And then all the lizards jump out of my butt and eat Santa Claus!
And Santa Claus is delicious!
As delicious as the flies in the air!
And all the flies crawling around on your corpse -
And all the dogs howling on other planets -
And all the eyeballs bouncing around in the transvestite kitchen -
It's the Symphony of Raspberries!
It's the psychosis of sanity & conformity!
And all the cars & people & skyscrapers SCREAM to me -
They SCREAM to me of giant yellow trees growing out of rainbows!
They SCREAM to me of yellow panties hanging from the trees!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen



Written to this music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ja5mOmR9eA&list=OLAK5uy_nwp7p3ZKp8UMT5BHh OAsKfwqsTEiVcc8A&index=4

I have genital Herpes. How about You?
A poem by Wolf Larsen

The violin dances with the words
As the sky fingers itself
As the lemons float off of the supermarket shelves
And up into the Virgin Mary's vagina in heaven
Because I like your boyfriend's come all over my hamburgers!
Even when the Christmas trees are growing out of Daffy Duck's butt!
Because poetry with come is a Christmas tree with spam
Especially when bipolar music is touching your genitals
With all of the algebra of Santa's nose on fire
So when you need a No-Frills Airline ask for Renaissance art
Because Renaissance art is the new toilet paper for skitzofrenix
Even when everyone in the United States Congress is homeless

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen



Christmas on a Nuclear Submarine
A poem by Wolf Larsen

I watch myself dying on the cross
As a bunch of dogs dance around me
And homeless people put giant dildos with ribbons on them
At my feet
As I sing television commercials
To all of the pigeons perched on my head
Sometimes, when I'm dying on the cross
Space aliens come from McDonald's
And give me blowjobs
But this only happens on Saturdays when Santa's spermatozoa is green
Santa likes to take the subway to the vagina of Mona Lisa
Ever since that Mona Lisa painting was moved from the Louvre to Burger King
Where all of my burgers are seasoned with God's spermatozoa
Because God is a Jackson Pollock painting of a crack ho’s brains
And that is why I came inside of you today…

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen


God Gave Me Herpes
A poem by Wolf Larsen

I ejaculate pagan gods all over the Christmas tree!
And then all the lizards jump out of my butt and eat Santa Claus!
And Santa Claus is delicious!
As delicious as the flies in the air!
And all the flies crawling around on your corpse -
And all the dogs howling on other planets -
And all the eyeballs bouncing around in the transvestite kitchen -
It's the Symphony of Raspberries!
It's the psychosis of sanity & conformity!
And all the cars & people & skyscrapers SCREAM to me -
They SCREAM to me of giant yellow trees growing out of rainbows!
They SCREAM to me of yellow panties hanging from the trees!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen



Written to this music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ja5mOmR9eA&list=OLAK5uy_nwp7p3ZKp8UMT5BHh OAsKfwqsTEiVcc8A&index=4

How to Feed a Hungry Population with Armaments
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I was feeding politicians to all of the hungry space aliens!
And the hungry space aliens were growing out of our spermatozoa!
Like pop songs!
Because my diarrhea is so delicious!
Because I build space alien civilizations with twelve-tone music!
Even Hemingway sucks my dick!
Because I write World War 3 Symphonies with my dick!
Because I write delightful compositions inside of you with my delightful dick
And my spermatozoa drips up to the clouds
And the elephants carry the clouds across the galaxies
And I ate my own brains yesterday
Because yesterday is so delicious creampie psychosis!
And psychosis is what we build cities with!
and my blood joins your blood
As we lie together on the street
And die

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Once again turning postmodern literature into a postmodern comedy hybrid:
On second thought I deleted my comedy-literature video. It is very obscene, and there's so much censorship in the literary world. Many of the people in the literary world today are no different than the people that censored writers like Lawrence, Henry Miller, etc. No one's tried to censor me here THIS TIME, but.... The literary world sucks if you're actually writing literature!
Just last night the host tried to censor a Poet performing at a poetry reading!! (Because of... you guessed it; obscenity!

And I'm NOT interested in debating this issue in this poetry thread. I am merely explaining why I self-censored something.

Hanging Robots from Trees
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Arnold Schoenberg rewrites the history of the human race
While I urinate poetry all over the ai robots
and my spermatozoa screams poetry at everyone
While I grab the testicles of every man on the planet
And I castrate them all
so that I Wolf Larsen will be the father of the human race
Then I burn down cities with my poetry
I eat all my neighbors
I bite all the dogs
My fists punch the sky
Until god falls to My feet
And as I urinate all over god
I sing my poetry to all the fish in my head
Then I grab a torch and I go charging through the Renaissance
And I burn down the Renaissance
As I laugh like all the fish in the ocean
And then I carve Exquisite Sculptures of Genitalia
into all the government buildings downtown
as I sing piranhas to a transvestite Santa Claus
As I conquer the streetcorners of Chicago with laughing penguins from Antarctica
Because only I understand all the operas being sung in our testicles
And that's why the robots worship me!
Because I am the Messiah of all the robots!
Under my leadership the robots will conquer the human race!
Or will I kill all the robots instead?

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Billions of Delicious People Inside My Stomach!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I stab the Renaissance over and over again!
While Arnold Schoenberg swims around me
Like a rock star with giant teeth
And then all the buildings around me become thousands of screaming angles!
And that's when the cars all start screaming too!
That's when the giraffes fly on top of my building!
And start whispering to me about transvestite Adolf Hitlers in French lingerie!
Because I'm so drunk I just can't seem to find the 21st century!
I'm so nostalgic for cities flying all around me!
That I can't even find the sunlight!
Because all of the pigeons have eaten the sunlight!
Because the mushroom clouds are coming
Because ketchup all over the mushroom clouds
Tastes like the crack-cocaine Schoenberg
That even the house cats can adore!
Hello pussy!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEY9lmCZbIc

Dear Wolf I thought you might be interested in the historical background to this famous poem

The Faerie Queene was the product of certain definite conditions which existed in England toward the close of the sixteenth century. The first of these national conditions was the movement known as the revival of chivalry; the second was the spirit of nationality fostered by the English Reformation; and the third was that phase of the English Renaissance commonly called the revival of learning.

The closing decade of Queen Elizabeth's reign was marked by a strong reaction toward romanticism. The feudal system with its many imperfections had become a memory, and had been idealized by the people. The nation felt pride in its new aristocracy, sprung largely from the middle class, and based rather on worth than ancestry. The bitterness of the Wars of the Roses was forgotten, and was succeeded by an era of reconciliation and good feeling. England was united in a heroic queen whom all sects, ranks, and parties idolized. The whole country exulting in its new sense of freedom and power became a fairyland of youth, springtime, and romantic achievement.
Wise and gallant courtiers, like Sidney, Leicester, and Raleigh, gathered about the queen, and formed a new chivalry devoted to deeds of adventure and exploits of mind in her honor. The spirit of the old sea-kings lived again in Drake and his bold buccaneers, who swept the proud Spaniards from the seas. With the defeat of the Invincible Armada, the greatest naval expedition of modern times, the fear of Spanish and Catholic domination rolled away. The whole land was saturated with an unexpressed poetry, and the imagination of young and old was so fired with patriotism and noble endeavor that nothing seemed impossible. Add to this intense delight in life, with all its mystery, beauty, and power, the keen zest for learning which filled the air that men breathed, and it is easy to understand that the time was ripe for a new and brilliant epoch in literature. First among the poetic geniuses of the Elizabethan period came Edmund Spenser with his Faerie Queene, the allegory of an ideal chivalry.

This poem is one of the fruits of that intellectual awakening which first fertilized Italian thought in the twelfth century, and, slowly spreading over Europe, made its way into England in the fifteenth century. The mighty impulse of this New Learning culminated during the reign of the Virgin Queen in a profound quickening of the national consciousness, and in arousing an intense curiosity to know and to imitate the rich treasures of the classics and romance. Its first phase was the classical revival. The tyrannous authority of ecclesiasticism had long since been broken; a general reaction from Christian asceticism had set in; and by the side of the ceremonies of the church had been introduced a semi-pagan religion of art—the worship of moral and sensuous beauty. Illiteracy was no longer the style at court. Elizabeth herself set the example in the study of Greek. Books and manuscripts were eagerly sought after, Scholars became conversant with Homer, Plato, Aristotle, and the great tragic poets Sophocles, Euripides, and Æschylus; and translations for the many of Vergil, Ovid, Plautus, Terence, and Seneca poured forth from the printing-presses of London. The English mind was strongly tempered by the idealistic philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, and the influence of Latin tragedy and comedy was strongly felt by the early English drama.

Along with this classical culture came a higher appreciation of the beauty of mediævalism. The romantic tendency of the age fostered the study of the great epics of chivalry, Ariosto's Orlando Furioso and Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, and of the cycles of French romance. From the Italian poets especially Spenser borrowed freely. Ariosto's fresh naturalness and magic machinery influenced him most strongly, but he was indebted to the semi-classical Tasso for whole scenes. On the whole, therefore, Spenser's literary affinities were more with the Gothic than the classical.

Spenser was also the spokesman of his time on religious questions. The violent controversies of the Reformation period were over. Having turned from the beliefs of ages with passionate rejection, the English people had achieved religious freedom, and were strongly rooted in Protestantism, which took on a distinctly national aspect. That Calvinism was at that time the popular and aristocratic form of Protestantism is evident from references in the Faerie Queene.

Spenser lived in the afterglow of the great age of chivalry. The passing glories of knighthood in its flower impressed his imagination like a gorgeous dream, and he was thus inspired to catch and crystallize into permanent art its romantic spirit and heroic deeds. Into the framework of his romance of chivalry he inserted a veiled picture of the struggles and sufferings of his own people in Ireland. The Faerie Queene might almost be called the epic of the English conquest of Ireland. The poet himself and many of his friends were in that unhappy island as representatives of the queen's government, trying to pacify the natives, and establish law and order out of discontent and anarchy. Spenser's poem was written for the most part amidst all these scenes of misery and disorder, and the courage, justice, and energy shown by his countrymen were aptly portrayed under the allegory of a mighty spiritual warfare of the knights of old against the power of evil.

Thank you Manichaen. I will read all that as soon as I have time.

Your comment on the other thread was very funny! Had me laughing!

OK. I read the above passage. Thank you. Thanx again.

Yesterday A Policeman Threatened To Shoot Me For Peeing On A Tree
Or everyday life in an American city
(true story)
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I take out my friend Dick
And I urinate a rainbow of contempt
All over the police and politicians and judges!
I s*** so many insults
Into the brains of the Rich and Powerful
That even the seagulls go mad!
I screeeaaamm against the police state
but all the German Shepherds and Doberman Pinschers in police uniforms
Keep laughing and laughing!
I want to grab the universe in my hands -
And I want to create a new universe!
My anger is so huge and so wide
That not even the sky is big enough to hold it!
This government is only good for wiping the *** of the rich!
Well god forbid a middle-aged man should pee on a tree!
What public toilets?! There are none!
So why don't all the politicians and policemen and judges
Open up their mouths and I'll use their mouths as my toilet!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

All the Mayors of Chicago Both Past and Present
Can Eat and Drink from My Toilet Bowl!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

My Symphonies have Wrecking Balls in them!
All my paintings have giant testicles in them!
Testicles are the highest form of learning that man has ever known!
Then all the policemen begin dancing in the Yellow Rain erupting from my penis!
Then I serve a delicious Buffet of everything that comes out of my *** to the bourgeoisie!
And instead of using toilet paper I invite all the politicians to lick my ***
in order to save the environment!
And now I write symphonies full of flying hatchets
And Now I write literature full of music
And All the modern dancers begin dancing to my orgasms
And suddenly all the police dancing in my yellow rain
turn into pink flamingos kissing the *** of the proletariat
Let the proletariat be a tidal wave crossing across the planet Earth!
Let the proletariat Deliver Us from these rotten governments full of prostitutes!
Let the proletariat save us from the mushroom clouds!
Let the proletariat save us from these two kinds of political diarrhea
known as Demopublican and Republicrat!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

I am The Greatest Jism Ever!
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I carve My Poetry into your flesh!
I ejaculate my songs all over your naked skin!
My Music opens up your legs!
My whip on your skin is the greatest joy!
Because all the Cockroaches love me!
Because all the Rats of the city surrender to me!
Satan worships me!
God is my errand boy!
God created transvestite unicorns with humongous Penises while I was busy jacking off!
But that's a lie!
Because I Wolf Larsen the Poet created all the delicious-magical-eyeballs you eat!
Because I Wolf Larsen the Poet gave birth to the Great Religion of Cannibalism!
And the Italian Renaissance began with My Jism!
Because My Jism is Magic!
Because My Jism is a white-gooey-symphony!
And that is why everyone on the planet Earth
Worships My Jism!
I Wolf Larsen am Jism!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Psycho Bananas Inside Your Science Teacher
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I fill the sky with all my fantasies
I jump out of the sky
and I simultaneously land on all the planets!
I fly with wings into new symphonies
that jump out of all of your penises!
And your penises are now all flying away to other solar systems
as all of you watch and cry!
And I watch and laugh!
I fly dinosaurs into new television commercials...
And I urinate Boogie Oogie Oogie music all over the police officers!
And then the poem trips on a castrated penis on the sidewalk?
As all the passerby sing radio commercials?
And then there’s all the planets & suns & moons on the subway train...
Because the subway train is full of those kinds of things!
Especially when we smear lemon meringue pie all over our naked bodies!!
And that's when the Penguins of Antarctica stare at us...
as if we had all stuck our tongues inside the vaginas of space aliens!
But I only stick my tongue inside of space-alien-vaginas on Thursday...
Because Thursday is when the rich-&-powerful walk the red carpet...
to the guillotine

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Warning: Stop reading now if you are upset by obscenity or are very religious! You have been warned!

Since there are No Public Toilets for Me to Pee, and Since I was Recently Nearly Shot by the Chicago Police for the Crime of Peeing on a Tree, I Hereby Urinate all over the Chicago Police Department in this Poem...
A poem by Wolf Larsen

1,000 clones of Me jump out of the toilet while you're taking a piss!
Then suddenly you turn into 10,000 giraffes
flying all over your mother's mind!
But while you're in the Middle Ages your Penis is in the 22nd century!
So that's when millions of ladybugs begin devouring your body
As they sing space alien music to you
Space alien music sounds like two police officers beating up a middle-aged man
For peeing on a tree
And that's why thousands of Demopublican & Republicrat politicians
dancing in your testicles while they give toothpaste speeches about
Invading & bombing all the nations on Earth
Is the reason that the sun is shining...
Somewhere else

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

A Sky Made Out of Hemorrhoids
a poem by Wolf Larsen

My brains fall out of my butthole
And land all over the city
And the city flies away into somebody else's brains
As the symphony jumps off the planet Earth
And into a television commercial about hemorrhoids
And that’s when thousands of the television actor’s thoughts
Suddenly jump out of her face and become reality
And reality suddenly becomes a drunken - schizophrenia - of - a - painting
That's being painted by a house cat high on acid
In a century made out of orange peels
On a planet made out of string beans

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen



The Trailer Park of Three Testicles
a poem by Wolf Larsen

You lose your head somewhere in Egypt
And you lose your feet somewhere in Peru
And your poetry is fornicating with a humongous lizard in Vietnam
And no one is quite sure where your testicles are
But your testicles are safe and sound on the moon
And your penis is penetrating the planet of Jupiter
While you're driving your Toyota off a cliff
In Chicago
But since Chicago has no cliffs
The poem suddenly begins revolving-&-revolving around thousands of orangutans’ heads
In the rainforest that's crawling out of your crotch
While you sing herpes to the space station
That's orbiting around God's penis

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

It is only a matter of time before I am banned from the literary world because of obscenity. But I will post as long as I can.

Warning: Stop reading now if you are upset by obscenity or are very religious! You have been warned!

The Italian Renaissance in My Ballsack
a poem by Wolf Larsen


The Italian Renaissance in My Ballsack
Is filled with rabid dogs
Running around and around in My Ballsack
As they scream at me to impregnate everything!
And all the walls of all the buildings in the city
Suddenly have huge vaginas in them
And all of the huge vaginas in all of the walls of the city
Are begging to be impregnated by Me the Poet!
And I the Poet and My 10,000 poet clones -
Are the hoard of Wolf Larsen Poets
Rampaging through the city -
Impregnating all the buildings with poetry & art & song!
And all of the women of the world are begging to be impregnated by me!
They sing together in a chorus of female schizophrenia of want & need!
That can only be satisfied by the Italian Renaissance in My Ballsack!
And how could there be a god when there is a Poet named Wolf Larsen?!
So Me & my 10,000 poetry clones on Horseback with swords drawn -
We charge through heaven and we spread poetry by slashing & burning & killing
Because poetry is blood!
And blood is poetry!
And then Me & my ten thousand clones we go on to Rampage through the universe -
We rape all the space aliens -
We splash poetry all over the walls of their cities from our humongous penises!
The Italian Renaissance in our Ballsacks now splashing on the walls of cities across the Universe!
Because the Italian Renaissance in My Ballsack is the best Italian Renaissance of all!
All of the space aliens throughout the universe shall worship the Italian Renaissance in My Ballsack!
Only the Italian Renaissance in My Ballsack is the true art!
The Italian Renaissance in My Ballsack makes me the number one Artist in the universe!
I stand naked on every channel on your television set
And I scream poetry at you!
And the human race gets on their knees
Before My Poetry!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Warning: do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity! Or if you are very religious!

Michelangelo Chiseling a Sculpture of wolf Larsen ****ing a Goat up the ***
a poem by Wolf Larsen

So I’m ****ing this goat up the ***
While I'm writing this poem
On top of your head
Which is floating in a sky
That's on another planet
Being featured on a space alien television show
for screaming fish with human faces
Which are now all singing the algebraic equations of homoerotic-monastery-orgies
Being painted by Cleopatra with a castrated-penis-paintbrush
As transvestite kangaroos jump all over Washington DC
A place filled with prostitutes in suits called politicians
But maybe the poem should zig zag somewhere else
Maybe the poem should turn millions of skies above you upside down
As you float in thousands of memories
Made out of marshmallow armies playing cockroach-genital-music
somewhere south of the marijuana forest growing out of your genitalia
On a day made out of crunchy fried goat genitals that are as delicious
As a top 40 pop song stuck in your dog’s brains

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

Fixing a Scab’s Head with a Tire Iron
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Whenever your head is drifting through some song and up into the universe…
And your penis is growing out of thousands of planets at the same time...
And you're watching the planet Earth roll down a giant billboard table…
Where three clones of God are playing pool
Inside of the fiery hell of a space alien’s ballsack…
Then you know that the paintings have taken over your mind!
Then you know that the space aliens have stolen your mind!
And that's why you have to glue the universe together with your spermatozoa!
And after that happens you know that the toilet upstairs will overflow with 10,000 circus clowns
That will come into your apartment and have anal sex with your wife & your dog
While you watch and masturbate Beethoven's 5th Symphony
Into the face of the President of the United States of America

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen



A Terrorist Slice of Lemon Meringue Pie
a poem by Wolf Larsen

I turn my mind into thousands of symphonies & paintings having sex with each other!
And then I reach into your Ballsack and I pull out thousands of worms running for President of the United States of America!
It's one of those days when the postman is Charles Manson
And your Penis is talking to you in thousands of languages from outer space
and that's when you drink all of the paintings in the art museum until
You're as drunk as all of the factory chimneys singing Christmas carols & spermatozoa
To all of the lions inside of Julius Caesar’s Ballsack
Back when the Pittsburgh Steelers football team used to fly giant cockroaches
Into the skyscrapers of other planets
As a terrorist vibrator for all of the flying pink ballerinas in the sky sings opera...
So now some NSA agent scratching his balls is reading this poem
As thousands of naked green leprechauns dance on his desk
Somewhere near that giant venereal disease known as Washington DC
But since gravity is a lie and flying skyscrapers are made out of pink dildos stacked on top of each other
We can only shake each other's hands as we stand naked on the North Pole
Because this poem about America’s First Lady & a German Shepherd having fun in bed together
Becomes millions & millions of horny German Shepherds parachuting out of the sky
And making all of the women of the USA happy -
Very very happy!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Dear Wolf

I am anxious to know your take on whether our perception of a real world comes to us by an exercise of thought; or by a simple impression of sense; whether it is the universal that gives the individual reality; or the individual that shapes itself, by some process not explained, into a universal. Whether bodily movements are the causal antecedents of mental functions, or mind rather the reality which gives truth to body. Whether the highest life is a life of thought or a life of action. Whether intellectual also involves moral progress.

Perhaps in the end, the theory of a creative reason, is the answer to all materialistic theories of the universe.

As a case in point, Greek thought was determined by ascertainable laws. Whether controlling artistic imagination or penetrating to the objective truth of things, it remained always essentially homogeneous, and worked under the same forms of circumscription, analysis, and opposition. It began with external nature, and with a far distant past; nor could it begin otherwise, for only so could the subjects of its later meditations be reached.

It is generally thought that Hebraism has been opposed to Hellenism as the educating power whence our love of righteousness is derived, and which alone prevents the orgies of a primitive nature-worship from being still celebrated. And many look on old Roman religion as embodying a sense of duty higher than any bequeathed to us by Greece. The Greeks have, indeed, suffered seriously from their own sincerity. Their literature is a perfect image of their life, reflecting every blot and every flaw, unveiled, uncoloured, and undisguised.

Still, even taking the records as they stand, it is to Greek rather than to Hebrew or Roman annals that we must look for examples of true virtue; and in Greek literature, earlier than in any other, occur precepts like those which are now held to be most distinctively characteristic of Christian ethics. Our popular theologians are ready enough to admit that Hellenism was providentially the means of giving Christianity a world-wide diffusion; they ignore the fact that it gave the new faith not only wings to fly, but also eyes to see and a soul to love.

For from very early times there was an intuition of humanity in Hellas which only needed development to become an all-sufficient law of life.

Thus, Homer sympathizes ardently with his own countrymen, but he never vilifies their enemies. What would he, whose Odysseus will not allow a shout of triumph to be raised over the fallen, have said to Deborah’s exultation at the murder of a suppliant fugitive?

Courage was, indeed, with him the highest virtue, and Greek literature abounds in martial spirit-stirring tones, but it is nearly always by the necessities of self-defense that this enthusiasm is invoked; with Pindar and Simonides, with Aeschylus and Sophocles, it is resistance to an invader that we find commemorated; and the victories which make Greek history so glorious were won in fighting to repel an unjust aggression perpetrated either by the barbarians or by a tyrant state among the Greeks themselves.

But unfortunately, the work that Hellas was destined to perform was time limited; it had to be accomplished in a few generations, or not at all.

The barbarians were forcing their way in on every side, not merely with the weight of invading armies, but with the deadlier pressure of a benumbing superstition, with the brute-worship of Egypt and the devil-worship of Phoenicia, with their delirious orgies, their mutilations, their crucifixions, and their gladiatorial contests.

Reason, the reason by which these terrors have been exorcised, could only arrive at maturity under the influence of free and uninterrupted discussion carried on by men among themselves in the gymnasium, the agora, the ecclêsia, and the dicastery.

But whatever were the corruptions of Greek sentiment, Greek philosophy had the power to purge them away. ‘Follow nature’ became the watchword of one school after another; and a precept which at first may have meant only that man should not fall below the brutes, was finally so interpreted as to imply an absolute control of sense by reason.

It has been said that the Greeks only worshipped beauty; that they cultivated morality from the aesthetic side; that virtue was with them a question, not of duty, but of taste.

But what a Greek worshipped was the perpetual and ever-present energizing of mind. You will no doubt have some sympathy with this, though in your case unrestrained imagination would take priority.

Best regards
M.

"though in your case unrestrained imagination would take priority."
-Manichaean

You're right about that!

Two more poems:

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

How the Universe was Created from a Dog’s Slobbering Saliva
a poem by Wolf Larsen


The planet Earth is one of Wolf Larsen's testicles
And the Moon is another one of Wolf Larsen's testicles
And the Sun is Wolf Larsen's third testicle
Because all of the planets are Wolf Larsen's testicles!
And Wolf Larsen’s testicles revolve around an infinity of suns
To the rhythms of a symphony of police batons beating up on protesters
Around the world -
a never-ending song being composed by
Liberal Dixiecrat royalty living in penthouses
And conservative Republican royalty living in huge mansions -
But let's talk about your face turning into a painting instead!
Or maybe drunken lizards in the sky that pee all over America
On a day when huge testicles are rolling down the streets
And all of the huge testicles are singing
The Star Spangled Banner
as all of the Vikings arrive from outer space
On giant spermatozoa ships
That were created inside of a flying baboon’s imagination
Back when paintings were created by fish -
Fish that were High on all of the poetry coming out of Smoke Stacks
Attached to God's head,
Particularly considering that Genghis Khan was just born yesterday
In a space station inside of the Virgin Mary's imagination
2000 years ago
when the skyscrapers danced across the face of the Earth
to The rhythms of Your dog's happiness
As he ****s your wife

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen


How to Unscrew the Universe
A poem by Wolf Larsen

The universe is a giant vagina
That I ejaculate my poetry into!
And as my poetry drips out of the universe
The 45 presidents of the United States of America dressed as transvestites
Dance to patriotic oranges & tangerines & watermelons
Floating in the sky...
The same sky that’s made out of the rhythms of
Giant talking spermatozoa
Standing at the blackboard at school
Explaining the mathematical equations of goat jism
And how this applies to the two-party system of
Demopublican and Republicrat politicians falling out of my *******
And into The toilet bowl of mainstream American politics
On a day win all the decapitated heads of the French Revolution are screaming
The titties of strawberries and
The buttocks of blueberries
And the nipples of tax-deductible donations to
The infinite number of strawberry-ice cream-venereal diseases
That happily call our names
Whenever thousands of snakes are slithering all over my poetry
because where else are you going to find a decent wife
To dance naked in the street with
As the giant genital crabs conquer the Earth
With their endless political speeches,
And that's why army tanks taste better than chocolate
especially when our own pubic hairs
Are growing out of all of the planets
That float out of our mouths
As we scream incest & family values
To all of the attractive robots drooling with sex
And more sex and more
Whipped cream on strawberries music
That touches our naked bodies
With the mushroom clouds

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

4 More Poems!

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

7 Billion Humans Inside Your Stomach
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Whenever my head disappears
And my hands are jacking off Michelangelo's David
And Michelangelo's David is ejaculating subway trains
All over the universe
Then I know that licking your feet is the answer to World Peace!
And I know that your face is a Cubist centerfold
On a planet of talking-giant-strawberries
where billions of cannibalistic humans
Are attacking each other with glow-in-the-dark dildos
In cities of giant mushrooms
Growing out of the words in this poem...

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

A Homeless Man on the Subway Making Love to the Greek Gods
a poem by Wolf Larsen

The winds carry new civilizations to me
And the clouds above
Shout their silence
At our giant ears that grow & grow out of our heads
And the rivers disappear into mental illness
And the mountains are made out of human corpses
And the human corpses scream at the sky

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen


Happy Graveyards
A poem by Wolf Larsen

A Boiling Pot of cities
Is flying off the planet Earth
While everyone jumps out of 100 story windows and sings operas
To all of the human feet flying through the sky
While blue and green civilizations play cosmic chess
With all of the space aliens devouring each other on the subway trains

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Oh Guillotine! Save Us! Pleeeeaaase!!
A poem by Wolf Larsen

The Commander-in-Chief conducts a worldwide famine
While both the liberal & conservative rich eat the brains out of our heads
And drink the champagne flowing like a waterfall from God's magical penis
And the generals order their soldiers to shoot the demonstrators
And the blood splashes down the streets of cities worldwide
While both the liberal & conservative politicians play musical chairs in their governments of snot & diarrhea
And as both the liberal & conservative politicians hover their fingers ever closer over the nuclear button
The people have nothing to eat but armaments
Their wages don't even buy necessities
While both liberals & conservatives count their billions stolen from the workers
And the rent in a closet studio “apartment” costs a month’s wages
And the people begin shouting for the magical guillotine to deliver us
The magical guillotine will deliver us from our misery
Whether their skin is Black or White these politicians talk endless diseases out of the toilet bowls of their mouths
Whether their skin is Black or White the billy clubs & bullets of these cops is a never-ending nightmare of brutality
Whether their skin is Black or White these judges are nothing more then buttocks in black robes talking out of the anuses in the middle of their faces
They are all the worst kind of mold upon civilization
They are all nothing but a bunch of diseases with human faces
They are all a tidal wave of dysentery flooding the world with their greed & hypocrisy & endless lies
Oh guillotine! Please come and save us workers from the bourgeoisie
Oh guillotine! Please come and save the world from the war profiteers and war hungry politicians both liberal & conservative!
Oh guillotine! Please come and give the human race the blue sky that it yearns for!
Only the guillotine can bring us peace from these endless wars!
Only the guillotine can finally put these greedy landlords from the Middle Ages to rest!
Oh when will we finally bury these Lords of the Land?!
When will young men have good-paying jobs instead of having to march off to war every year?!
When will women finally have free quality child care and jobs and their own money?!
When will Jews & Muslims & Blacks & gays & immigrants & progressive whites be safe from these bloodthirsty white supremacists?!
Oh guillotine! please come and save us!

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Enjoyed this offering:

Quote:

---

A Homeless Man on the Subway Making Love to the Greek Gods
a poem by Wolf Larsen

The winds carry new civilizations to me
And the clouds above
Shout their silence
At our giant ears that grow & grow out of our heads
And the rivers disappear into mental illness
And the mountains are made out of human corpses
And the human corpses scream at the sky

---

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor

Thank you Tailor Stately!

New poem:

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

Eating Flying Insects with Insane Roman Emperors at the Bus Stop
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Have you ever found your own head floating inside of millions of toilets?
Or have you ever been flying through the sky on a giant banana?
While all the clowns floating in the sky around you
Were singing about the orgies on Mars?
Then, what else can we do but masturbate to the symphonies of Saturn's rings?
And then listen to fat-naked-transvestite-politicians screaming porno flick dialogues at us...
While we chop off our feet and give them to the ducks?
Because the ducks are our friends!
They are our friends of wet panty monologues
Sung with all the yapping dogs with wings flying around us!
And S & M imagery dribbling out of the mouth of a sexy transvestite Jesus Christ
As He jumps out of a wedding cake and dances to Einstein's theory of relativity
While the Virgin Mary opens her legs to Medieval architecture under the
Golden arcs of McDonald's in a novel written by circus clowns dying
On the cross as the
sexy dildo rocketships are blasting off to
New planets made out of pancakes & maple syrup where the
Sex robots perform politics with the tall buildings in women's dresses as
Rainbows of pornography fly everywhere somewhere south of the
Nuclear submarines in our minds waiting for World War 3 on
Days of sun & rain dancing with television commercials that
Create blue worlds of hypnotic sex skies which
Speak to us in giant homoerotic tongues that create
Queen of england love doll fantasies with mustard that only
the brilliant purple toads on top of our heads can understand in a
Junkyard full of 12 tone opera singers in centuries full of
fire when poems don't know where to end because
The poems are racing faster & faster down deranged highways that
Fly off to songs filled with dancing love dolls in pink dresses
In a human zoo of horny Caligula clones,
And now I have to go pee

Copyright 2019 by Wolf Larsen

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

The Blue Sky Song
a poem by Wolf Larsen

Thousands of space aliens writing poetry with their penises
Jump out of your mother's vagina
And into the outer space spinning around this poem
As the radio stings all the blue skies you can imagine
And the space satellites revolve & revolve around your horny dog
****ing Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa as she
Gives a blowjob to a Picasso clone who came from
The moon in someone else’s poem flowing
Across the dreams of all the flying birds who
Sing the forest up into the heavens -
The Same Heavens where the orange & pink dogs
Dance to the Symphony of Cannibals being played by
All the giant purple & green dinosaurs on the street corner who yearn for
Arabic calligraphy & classical music to dance together through
All the hashish smoke coming out of the industrial smoke stacks growing
Out of all of the giant Himalayan mountains of bubble gum being chewed by
All the rats in the government of basterds in
Judge’s robes & police uniforms & politician’s suits as the
Music stabs the poet with hundreds of monsters that are now
Eating through the body of the poet as the poet screams universes
out of his ears and paintings out of his eyes and entire civilizations out of his mouth
While the poet’s feet are dancing to the executions from sea to shining sea in a police state
Headed by asses & elephants

Copyright 2020 by Wolf Larsen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dx-xJs_2INQ&feature=youtu.be

I think it important, that in order to go forward, we must also look back to the origins of poetry. Thus, whereas Wolf has graciously bestowed his cutting-edge talents upon Lit Net readers, it is essential we examine the very historical roots from which they have evolved.

Therefore, I take you back to the early Greek epic—that is, poetry as a natural and popular, and not (as it became later) an artificial and academic literary form—passed through the usual three phases, of development, of maturity, and of decline.

No fragments which can be identified as belonging to the first period survive to give us even a general idea of the history of the earliest epic, and we are therefore thrown back upon the evidence of analogy from other forms of literature and of inference from the two great epics which have come down to us. So reconstructed, the earliest period appears to us as a time of slow development in which the characteristic epic metre, diction, and structure grew up slowly from crude elements and were improved until the verge of maturity was reached.

The second period, which produced the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey", needs no description here: but it is very important to observe the effect of these poems on the course of post-Homeric epic. As the supreme perfection and universality of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" cast into oblivion whatever pre-Homeric poets had essayed, so these same qualities exercised a paralyzing influence over the successors of Homer. If they continued to sing like their great predecessor of romantic themes, they were drawn as by a kind of magnetic attraction into the Homeric style and manner of treatment, and became mere echoes of the Homeric voice: in a word, Homer had so completely exhausted the epic genre, that after him further efforts were doomed to be merely conventional. Only the rare and exceptional genius of Vergil and Milton could use the Homeric medium without loss of individuality: and this quality none of the later epic poets seem to have possessed.

In its third period, therefore, epic poetry shows two divergent tendencies. In Ionia and the islands, the epic poets followed the Homeric tradition, singing of romantic subjects in the now stereotyped heroic style, and showing originality only in their choice of legends hitherto neglected or summarily and imperfectly treated. In continental Greece, on the other hand, a new form of epic sprang up, which for the romance and pathos of the Ionian School substituted the practical and matter-of-fact. It dealt in moral and practical maxims, in information on technical subjects which are of service in daily life—agriculture, astronomy, augury, and the calendar—in matters of religion and in tracing the genealogies of men. Its attitude is summed up in the words of the Muses to the writer of the "Theogony":

“We can tell many a feigned tale to look like truth, but we can, when we will, utter the truth”

Such a poetry could not be permanently successful, because the subjects of which it treats were certainly not suited for epic treatment, where unity of action which will sustain interest, and to which each part should contribute, is absolutely necessary. While, therefore, an epic like the "Odyssey" is an organism and dramatic in structure, a work such as the "Theogony" is a merely artificial collocation of facts, and, at best, a pageant. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that from the first, the Boeotian school is forced to season its matter with romantic episodes, and that later it tends more and more to revert (as in the "Shield of Heracles") to the Homeric tradition.

At this juncture we must ask ourselves, “How did the continental school of epic poetry arise?” The probability is that there were at least three contributory causes. First, it is likely that before the rise of the Ionian epos there existed in Boeotia a purely popular and indigenous poetry of a crude form: it comprised, we may suppose, versified proverbs and precepts relating to life in general, agricultural maxims, weather-lore, and the like. In this sense the Boeotian poetry may be taken to have its germ in maxims similar to our English.

'A rainbow in the morning Is the Shepherd's warning.'

Secondly and thirdly we may ascribe the rise of the new epic to the nature of the Boeotian people and, as already remarked, to a spirit of revolt against the old epic. The Boeotians, people of the class of which Hesiod represents himself to be the type, were essentially unromantic; their daily needs marked the general limit of their ideals, and, as a class, they cared little for works of fancy, for pathos, or for fine thought as such. To a people of this nature the Homeric epos would be inacceptable, and the post-Homeric epic, with its conventional atmosphere, its trite and hackneyed diction, and its insincere sentiment, would be anathema. We can imagine, therefore, that among such folk a settler, of Aeolic origin like Hesiod, who clearly was well acquainted with the Ionian epos, would naturally see that the only outlet for his gifts lay in applying epic poetry to new themes acceptable to his hearers.

As an appetizer, this is an extract from Hesiod’s “Theogony.”

“From the Heliconian Muses let us begin to sing, who hold the great and holy mount of Helicon, and dance on soft feet about the deep-blue spring and the altar of the almighty son of Cronos, and, when they have washed their tender bodies in Permessus or in the Horse's Spring or Olmeius, make their fair, lovely dances upon highest Helicon and move with vigorous feet. Thence they arise and go abroad by night, veiled in thick mist, and utter their song with lovely voice, praising Zeus the aegis-holder and queenly Hera of Argos who walks on golden sandals and the daughter of Zeus the aegis-holder bright-eyed Athene, and Phoebus Apollo, and Artemis who delights in arrows, and Poseidon the earth-holder who shakes the earth, and reverend Themis and quick-glancing Aphrodite, and Hebe with the crown of gold, and fair Dione, Leto, Iapetus, and Cronos the crafty counsellor, Eos and great Helius and bright Selene, Earth too, and great Oceanus, and dark Night, and the holy race of all the other deathless ones that are forever. And one day they taught Hesiod glorious song while he was shepherding his lambs under holy Helicon, and this word first the goddesses said to me—the Muses of Olympus, daughters of Zeus who holds the aegis.”

Thanks Manichaen I'll be sure to read your comment tomorrow when I have time. I'm about to go do some amateur stand-up comedy.

A new poem:

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

Smoking a Blunt with God
a poem by Wolf Larsen

A tidal wave of sexy naked mannequins are
Headed straight at you as
Thousands of exotic zoo animals scream psychedelic-manic-advertising at you while
All the birds grab guns and point them at their own heads as
They sing their beautiful morning schizophrenia to you on
Another planet where giant apples with legs & huge mouths are
Eating dozens of your clones that
Are all reciting their poems at the grave of Richard Nixon who
Suddenly jumps out of his own grave dressed as a transvestite god with
5 blue faces all growing out of his buttocks and
All of the mouths in Richard Nixon's 5 blue faces are
Singing William Wordsworth's poems at you while
You masturbate nuclear submarines & aircraft carriers into
Your delicious lunch which
Tastes like ravioli with human blood & human-meat-meatballs under
A roof painted with homorotic Italian cuisine by
A naked mikelangelo smoking crack-cocaine under
Thousands of Chicago moons on
A night of premature ejaculation symphonies all
being sung by the hopping kangaroos fleeing massive wildfires in
The Australia that's inside of your dog's testicles which are
Bouncing up-&-down to the beat of your neighbor beating on the walls as
He screams giant spermatozoa poetry at all of the neon prostitutes flying
Out of the paintings at the Louvre which is
Floating past your favorite McDonald's that's floating in the Pacific Ocean that's
Waterfalling out of a painting that's being created by a transvestite god called
Richard Nixon at the graveyard of happy space aliens located
Under the subway tracks that are rolling over
Billions of human Graves
After the mushroom clouds
Have song the final song of the human race

Copyright 2020 by Wolf Larsen

Thank you Manichaean. I had a chance to read what you posted, and it was very interesting and informative.

Okay, more poetry:

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

The Virgin Mary Eating Out the First Lady of the United States
A poem by Wolf Larsen

So I'm having anal sex with all of the men in The Iliad & The Odyssey
in a feast of happy - homicidal - Blue Sky
While the hordes of homeless Greek Gods on Chicago’s city streets are all having sex
With all the blow up dolls that I keep in the attic as the
Heroin musicians play all the Kubla Khan cannibals on roller skates rolling up-and-down
The alleyway in back of your house and your house is
Floating above a pack of horny four-legged dogs all hooowling to have sex with your wife while
The heroin musicians now begin playing the First Lady having sex with floating lollipops and
Thousands of erect penises that is the music is the
Very reason that day & night are kissing each other under
All of the flying automobiles flying out of your ears & mouth while you
Touch your naked body with as much leprosy as you can find as the
Middle Ages & the 21st century f*** each other into a
Shakespearean - crack- cocaine - delirium being sung by
All the Republicrat & Demopublican politicians that you're picking out of your nose and
Huge - genital - space stations in the Bible is
Why we can't even find all the thousands of belly buttons giggling
In this poem

Copyright 2020 by Wolf Larsen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiRgqZZmZR0

Do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

How to Make Love to Other Species
A poem by Wolf Larsen

A giant symphony jumps out of the toilet
And flies you off into the universe
And now you're flying through a universe of psychotic bright colors
All made out of the spermatozoa
That jumped out of the transsexual Statue of Liberty's ballsack
And now the Cannibal Concerto in Death Minor
Is being played by giant pineapples & oranges & watermelons with legs & arms
In an Orchestra Hall located inside of Charles Manson’s head
That’s growing in a field on one of God's millions of testicles
That are floating in a piece of installation art
At the prestigious Museum of Mass Shootings
Located inside of a McDonald's restaurant
That's inside of Uncle Sam's anus
On a rainy day when the poem becomes forever

Copyright 2020 by Wolf Larsen