This is a very difficult, detailed explanation
there is no one left alive and the survivors
have destroyed minds and will **** you

but, to be quite honest with you, everything
is on fire it's a right mess

my skull is history

I can't act or teach this way
they all fall and it is not my fault
they perish

I commit to weird wanderings
testing and stretching life like
they do in books

I should have been many men
over many lifetimes
but one man against time

Yes I mostly destroy things
Mostly myself
But that still is not enough
to satiate my lust and
weird Roman pride.
Old Gods.
Bring blessings on every member of my family.
Give them passage.

the end of Henry Miller paragraphs
blow out the *** end of my pop song
which I cling to

however this thing has expired
and the treasure is sunk expertly
an ecstatic kinging

brings me what the devil decides
because I want June at all times
Now and more

This. The button. The parent of all ills.
Connected and fed by rampant mouths.
Or by holes made by war.

This motion made perfect in
a court of infants on ruins
subjects

paper star and starlet
no time in a blaze
for the movie of your minute

Isaac Dust
Born from the cold binary dust and
with no song or sigh returning to dust

He just has daughters and its a blow to
his pride since heirs inherit the
mortal remains and titles

But this isn't that kind of song
not now not when your stood trying
the locked box of fatherhood

He returns to the fire just to escape
a capitol offense flowing like morning
youth yawning your birth

Isaac remains still as dirt
guilty as bone and blood
assembled for horror and nuance