Sep 2018
Am I plastered?
Drunk or just hanging?
Taking a dunk or just sagging?
I am given to aphorisms
Morals that build us for a reason
Trying to keep us out of mental prisons
Words have me in a haze and I cannot erase these thoughts that keep running in an entrancing maze.
Metamorphosis. There are matters that enforce this energy which is engorged within a metaphysical force. I use my fingers to pick up a pen so to expel a thought that lingers in my pineal gland.
Goodness. It is grace amazing that is in this place or just a god or the God who shows off his face. We are presented with a gift perennial that is wrapped with mystery. In mists the fists of fate take a swing and if we believe in the unseen we can trust grit and transcend beyond wit. Train our senses to be lit so they can send us beyond -ism's to the essence of goodness.
Locomotion. In my local state I give up my locale to some divine logic gate. I dial in to wire my mental coiling to follow a calling to inspire. Ever the wiser I should soar to the mystic spheres. But ground there is insulation and my calculation computes a technical movement in my skeletal. I am moving locating my next step, relaying locomotives which are concentric energy.
Soigné. A fine dame I dare meet on a fine day. So Ignorant of her beauty I parlay my chances with a few words of jest and curved zest to interact with her invitational tract. If I have a chance in fact I will make a pact to be with her throughout the days and forget about lustful tact. I resurge and her being is muse and to me it is a purge. I aim to converse with her for days and days so we can find confluence as we psychically converge. And I'll tell her that she is pulchritudinous and I am pale true to nought, waiting for my crafting.
Words or chords to find concordance. Some say say swords to slice and pierce and dictate worlds. I say they are mellifluous like a melody that sends a melancholy sadist out of his maladies. Magnanimously magnificent in moments of poetic artistry and meandering prose fixating methodically. From the mammary of the culinary belly we squeeze out these laid letters formed to mean but not to be mean to the means of our diction or magnify our addiction. Perhaps to quantify our intellect beyond the internet, we archive them in dictionaries and illustrate them in some encyclopaedia. Perhaps grunts and clicking of tongues is some medium... But words change the world where lords fail to write laws to keep us sane, and instead have swords forged to have any man slain.
Drunk or just hanging?
Taking a dunk or just sagging?
I am given to aphorisms
Morals that build us for a reason
Trying to keep us out of mental prisons
Words have me in a haze and I cannot erase these thoughts that keep running in an entrancing maze.
Metamorphosis. There are matters that enforce this energy which is engorged within a metaphysical force. I use my fingers to pick up a pen so to expel a thought that lingers in my pineal gland.
Goodness. It is grace amazing that is in this place or just a god or the God who shows off his face. We are presented with a gift perennial that is wrapped with mystery. In mists the fists of fate take a swing and if we believe in the unseen we can trust grit and transcend beyond wit. Train our senses to be lit so they can send us beyond -ism's to the essence of goodness.
Locomotion. In my local state I give up my locale to some divine logic gate. I dial in to wire my mental coiling to follow a calling to inspire. Ever the wiser I should soar to the mystic spheres. But ground there is insulation and my calculation computes a technical movement in my skeletal. I am moving locating my next step, relaying locomotives which are concentric energy.
Soigné. A fine dame I dare meet on a fine day. So Ignorant of her beauty I parlay my chances with a few words of jest and curved zest to interact with her invitational tract. If I have a chance in fact I will make a pact to be with her throughout the days and forget about lustful tact. I resurge and her being is muse and to me it is a purge. I aim to converse with her for days and days so we can find confluence as we psychically converge. And I'll tell her that she is pulchritudinous and I am pale true to nought, waiting for my crafting.
Words or chords to find concordance. Some say say swords to slice and pierce and dictate worlds. I say they are mellifluous like a melody that sends a melancholy sadist out of his maladies. Magnanimously magnificent in moments of poetic artistry and meandering prose fixating methodically. From the mammary of the culinary belly we squeeze out these laid letters formed to mean but not to be mean to the means of our diction or magnify our addiction. Perhaps to quantify our intellect beyond the internet, we archive them in dictionaries and illustrate them in some encyclopaedia. Perhaps grunts and clicking of tongues is some medium... But words change the world where lords fail to write laws to keep us sane, and instead have swords forged to have any man slain.
