Excursion: Twelve, 30
Insects & Migration
In Cloud Syndrome
How to Understand Writings of Rebellion
Black Out-Diplomat Procedure to Necessary Upheaval of the Department



Excursion: Twelve, 30

Out in the fog,
stillness slowly deafens.

Stoplights are blankly lit in the same color fashion
as left at the last exercise...
Amidst downtown street lampposts
in their own picturesque responsibility.
Left to model presence and occurrence in low-level
yellow tint.
Down the street, motors of machines
gnaw at the absence of
Sound. Movement. Vibration.
Suspended by the air.

Down the gutters, borderline
to midway yellow line.
Belonging to the approaching curvature of the gray
streets.
Medium of horizontal planes by which air pressure
meets.

The fog rendering it moist.
Moisture dampening the poise.

Numerous white lines assembled at equal lengths
appealing to suit. Recollect the responsibility;
Filtering the grease from under the dew.
Further along than the sleeping structures that cradle
downtown,
run engines working from nonexistent to never
existing.
Attaching the laboring headset muscles to a sensible
feeling of home.


Insects & Migration

And with their belongings they pilot.
Feverishly, moving with horror about their breast. Wonders of the wind
against odds of the end. Leaving behind the accumulation of excrement
from tired wings. And do notice the intense and continuous hum.
The dark shaded swarms that black out the sun.
From the very beginning of their origin; They were created to move. And
rapidly do they come. Instinct is ingrained throughout their veins. The
countless relatives of infinite broods. There is no feeling of relationship.
There is no connection or bond between one another. Only a few habits of
survival. But together they come. Containing the leisure of leaving that
excludes the burden and worry of conflict. It is rudimentary structure
of the thought process which gives reasonable wit.
They own limbs which enable flight. And we will observe. Here becomes
ambition to object when time of tolerance halts. And maybe you will come to
grips with incapability against success.
Over our synthetic gestures. Flying on air of discovery. Aware only of
scents that stimulate the excitement of direction. Having to deal with the
troubles of just getting there is enough. And now arriving for serenity.
This prime destination they come for. When foot is planted on pure earth,
they know it.


In Cloud Syndrome

I heard someone say, Most of life is a grey area.
Deliveries from no violent-sun-ray area.
All come for piddling hysteria.
These are in clouds. These are in clouds.
To contemplate all arduous plans in a homemade travesty.
Constructed from inside by your majesty.
It's put-together-heat as I can see.
These are in clouds. These are in clouds.




How to Understand the Writings
of Rebellion

The paper was anorexic thin.
Scripted with bulimic words.
And I still could read through its interpretation.

They wrote of Godly sin.
Twined with vile whores.
And I still could see through its malformation.

Let it be brought open.
For this,
This is the new age of violence.




Black Out-Diplomat Procedure
to Necessary Upheaval of the Department

Instrument for transmission...
Ready.
Mission to recoup our now demoralized state of mind.
Ready.
Accredited to a disillusioned public community
finally fed up with mistreatment and injustice.
A loss of patience,
beyond the limit of toleration...

Objective: Termination of corrupted authoritative oppressors.
Departure: 03:45
Arrival: 04:35

A preparation phase of four months.
Underground.
Scheduled to specific date and time.

Device for destruction:
Composed of intricately designed internal elements.
Electrical organs.
Set to discharge at any desired moment.
Building elevator and floor plans acquired from
confidential member personnel within the given time of four months.
Acting members enabled at disclosed positions outside the compound.
Installation of device in a strategically chosen location in the targeted premise.

Enter without notice. Leave without a trace.

Detonation time: 08:00



(for more  of Ryne De Ocampo's poetry :www.prettypoetry.cjb.net)