After time words blur, an absurd slurring cures worried attachments to them,
and when I catch that nonsense by letting it go suddenly the flow flourishes raining over my sustainable poetry planted long ago.
I bloom, the shrooms cue music encoded in the OM, a place called home for me, where stones can be bass drums thumping heartbeat rhythms.
Something slithers, something withers; the darkness as I spark this campfire light house announcing all pirate ships can dock around my mountain.
I shout shenanigans like zippy dippy do dah while yodeling love as the wind bends my words above as below like a yoga pose around the world.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
After time words blur, an absurd slurring cures worried attachments to them,
and when I catch that nonsense by letting it go suddenly the flow flourishes raining over my sustainable poetry planted long ago.
I bloom, the shrooms cue music encoded in the OM, a place called home for me, where stones can be bass drums thumping heartbeat rhythms.
Something slithers, something withers; the darkness as I spark this campfire light house announcing all pirate ships can dock around my mountain.
I shout shenanigans like zippy dippy do dah while yodeling love as the wind bends my words above as below like a yoga pose around the world.
