It might be the Autumn of the universe

But I’m dead and dying Only got three hours
but I’m worth four William Blakes
JK, this golden tongue just turn't a phrase
I’m variable I might put a pen in it for days
with my skaldic warlike metaphor maybe
pull the powder pink pin to this stink grenade

exploding White-light fragment
truth scattered like a bed unmade

Occupied by a
simple sinful citizen
what a murderous bake
like I pistol whipped the cinnamon
it’s on this nervous earth surface we wake

What if proper prayer & discipline
could cure the break?

Cognitive repetitive
sedative sensitive sediment
Source of my  rep was my life as testament

seems I’m not dominant among
those so ignorant they numb

Instead relations are networked to witness division

tantric like Siva
got three eyes
so when she go to the movies I might do four plays
treat her nice at dinner I o five plates
Then see her later cause when it comes
to acid I might take 6 crates

to the dome, left with Gaping mouth and mind so blown
_
....
^^^^
I got one shot
but I got two clocks
cause time I’m never sure
3 eyes
4 plays
5 plates
6 crates
And 1 Boom Mic

Is this the Autumn of the universe or the Winter? Not for me to say.
I’m just a boy riding a white ox playing flute.  My melody is the great opening, my drums the mirrored Dao.