a warrior of our time,
fountain pen floating down a lake
visualizing the capitalization of death
through the sophisticated alleys
of drenched soldiers.
Conceiving from the mother of madness
with hard cock to endure a golden child.
Who grew up with the help of the
angels of Heaven only to discover
that the endurance of pain
was a taxi-cab in New York.
And through the Greenwich of old,
played poker with the mighty saints
of the apocalypse.
And threw down the towel with rising currents,
insufferably graduated by locks and bridges,
tasting the preliminaries of evil
and smoking endless amounts of Mary Jane.
Who sought to become evil
but was forced through the irreverent solace
of encapsulating misery.
Who fucked the shit out of Neal Cassady
and thought Kerouac was the endowment of poetry.
Who wrote at length,
with pot, with LSD, with a long beard,
with a member incorporated into another member
and penetrating likely amounts of
semen as the participants go
"oh hit me hard motherfucker
hit me hard oh oh oh."
Why, Greenspan, were you surrounded by demons,
scurrying across you as you beat your drums;
sod them with their "Naked Lunch's"
Last night I dreamed I met Allen Greenspan
As he entered I imagined death And then realized that Greenspan is death
and only through death can the heaviness of love be conveyed
mighty mountains, solace and ingratitude defined by evil.
Dead babies polluting the remaining magnets raging from the golden moon.
And the golden moon acting as if he was a lord of conversion
occurrence 1997 Nothing left but void then to realize you are the void
and that the void is goodbye
yes, that's what I wanted, what I always wanted
To write an article about Allen Greenspan on Uncyclopedia,