Two eggs, laid down by the corridors
Sure as mortal days escape by the west coast
Rolling boulders feel the way of the mocking birds
Roasting legs dripping starlight onto the verge
Up in my estimations, high sky crosses the absurd river of ice
Titanic served salmon on a bed of white rice
With such luscious little smiles, scales and forgiveness in the rails
It’s the day of the cowardly snails
Eating all the clouds
Breaking all their moister
Mawl down the lighting and the ice
Filling bellies full of watery vice
Brace, riding this carrion is hard
They eat their way scaring the sky
They are serving tea and biscuits in the first class cabin
Freaked with pink specks above the wing, oh Pegasus
Length of your abroad sailing on that rack
I struck by saturnism, a soiled being of mirth
Naught, uncle verily sold unto me a fandangle disposition
Oh mooncalf I hear you spake, the numbing cheat would but be a faster expiry
Fain I am, I call
Gods acer, you be in amount regardless
Such day, yea I drink from young blood of ye?
Neigh, it be but ague to your conistution
Slipshod my night, soon but I do.
Gentle careful aches for touch
Much sense filled to almost brimming
In your kisses I am swimming
Bring, bring us tendril islands
Let’s go together
Lost on our island forever
Never, ever be anything but us
Oh, flounder and thrust
Tickle, trickles into a caress
I’m sorry but I might make a mess
Wispering silence as much as you can best
The lick of a breast
For long our nibbles
Trouble with tribbles
Plays quitely on your TV
I steal a kiss passionately
Clever girl, your gasping breath says
Tendril of your tounge finds
Sipping your wine, for it’s time
For partaking of mine
Tendril islands
Put into motion
Drinking this potion
Lost in my ocean
Kill the message.
Kill the messenger.
Murcury is not death, though
His is as deceiving as any one can tell
A theith and a lair, Larunda will not tell though
For cutthroat Jupiter hastily cut out her tounge
You may think, that Murder has beseeched the messenger of the gods
You forgot they are just as tricksy as us if not more
But what else is a god, but the very hardened psychosis of us poorly mortals
Listen to that screech Hell is about to be unleashed
Silver death comes to those who are not prepared
Nightmares born of dusty dreams
I cannot think to compare
Beyond, beyond, our reach
Demons reign in caverns deep
Black smoke rising. Stench arcrid ensnare
Step on skulls full of grimy discusting things
A world beyond me doesn’t seem to care
Listening and hiding in this shadow
I’m very sure I’m being drawn to be like them
Marrow and blood flow from my skin bare
Pick my pistol up
Shoot them, shoot them
I’m sure your going through the same flair
I gaze, I find myself inside your eyes
That deepness that blooms warmth around
Arises reflection of souls beyond this deepness
Clouds, dripping our rainbows through the sky
Wispers of lies, wishing for the gentle touch of truth
I’ll be a roundabout, we have both come out
Tingle of frying fruits, creame and vanilla
Yet a continuing riddle of what we ask for dinner
Scratch, bite, tickles, the day star yearns
I’m so deep in those eyes, dark, mysterious / will I ever learn?
We sleep or walk under the light
Forever seeking the right path
Through the forest frights
Dark under cloudy mourning the bright
After all we all love under the same moonshine. I ask you to hold me tight.
Sun burns, into the soil like fires making ash
Flesh tied onto bone white and dead
Nests, birds long gone now
Streets black and empty, to hot for motors now
Whispers of clouds like stepping shapes
Looking about face
The soup of her favorite song in the air
She takes her halo off
Polishing it for the first time
Covered in crystal hatreds
The mess these mortals make
Chords of their lives weaved in knots
They scissor hands and scissor deaths
Looking at this moment, at her own thoughts
Knitting, striving, fated black ropes
Destiny, in these times
It took so long for her to be aware of this
A warm feeling of the subdued grey lingers
Non one calls her by her name
They have a word for her, and her
Woefully worshipping, in the hope
Silently despairs, in the hate
Significantl tangles, a messy weave
She’s not the only one who weaves
They do, themselves make it, their are others too
Like, above and, ever pressent
Immortals is the wrong word
They are: Longen.
Riding the noises in the forest fae
Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds
Strange library, evergreen, oh don’t mind me
Pinky promises flowering essence, cool Ghostly presence
Little strange new dreams of machines, none of them clean
Rocky colors, shook the duller capture
Fresh kill to the bones of the Trill, they’re after the carrion fill
Hot cups, gimlet luck, blue blood, true mud
Flicking others, shadows like cothered muffeled mussel
Dripping with spite their is the spike, and the hill of the place of the armsted respite
Besides that their it is, a spokesman for the next new species
A fairy and a robot, a gathering thought, waves
It’s hand is up, sucking on the teat
Newborn, but not a newcomer
How quickly will it learn?
Of the spiders, birds, books and nerds?
Warming inside
Like alive
Supple rays
To pheonix flame
Sun tea; invigorating me
Well that wasn’t even the justice of the curls in the system
I’m sore as a whole bunch of petitions
Piles of cheats and gassing hermits in leering metal boxes
so I hear they melted down the ox’s
Great beanie islands, sitting in a million times their volume of views
Ques, cues
I anguished. I stepped. I swore are you doing not the right sight. That true box of things that weels it’s place, seems to know more about your directions
Curly, your just like them
Grenadine, mixed in tears of a virgin
Lonely, like a oyster
You will blame the system then the others
Never see the ocean of muck you are in
Is that your fualt? Your future?
I’m just a pearl
I’ve got no cleavage to cut with
I’m anguish, I’m hatred, down into the salty sand I will fall when your gone but a memory in the heart of the ocean.
I’m part of a potion
Coming into the second hands higher than thou attitude
I’m just dirt. I’m not nothing, but it’s how some will see me.
Root sum of the east
Plating his mustache with an air of efficiency
Standing guitar ready to play, black leather jacket has seen better days
He takes his breath, starts to sing a tune that summons
Ideal of summers warm like lime cordial long since past, winters chills that sends shivers that last
The people come and find his song, travel with it to this pretend land long gone
Walls that build a civil society above the sky looking at the land below. A vision of perfection
A mouse sends postcard from the wainscoting, telling us of all his shopping. Is this another story? Song? Or are we asleep.
We feel but meek. Weaker and poorer and happier, as we realize how perfection isn’t meant to last
