Thus be my curse or thus be my gift,
Itching and scratching yet never relaxing
through my brain thy sift.
A radar of such
with a thousand blips
searches an infinite falling sky
for clouds of dragons fierce and ghosts
preposterous in vapid moments
between a green eye flashing.

In the center of static mind spins
a lighthouse splattered in graffiti
paint from wicked galaxies,
illuminating ships already docked,
While others scrape the jagged thoughts
pincher piercing, sinking in magnetic soot,
later to be rubber-banded around the maelstrom
In a chasm that ***** the world dry
and vomits the taste that is too bitter.

Oh god the embarrassing flick on
flick off, hey look at the birds,
how they fly formations
like ripples in the pond to feed the
Little ones in a tree.
screeching in glee through mushy
worms of moist earth;
oh their I go again.