Untitled Poem
garments made of cobweb dust
cover up the truth and trust
of many men hidden ‘neath the crust
all held up by an atlas bust
to love and to lose your concentration
feeding on mental *******
the pleasure comes, releasing elation
with you throughout trials and tribulations
hand on the gland of ****** healing
trance-like, tantric, head is reeling
can’t shake off this wonderful feeling
the flames are here the skin is peeling
screams of ecstatic pain and pleasure
as the world begins its drastic measure
holding hands with whomever
preparing for the final descent into the nether
dried out like a fish in an abandoned market
pull out the joint and begin to spark it
release yourself from the bow into the 50 point target
crashing down away from here
sticking out like the earth’s ear