vague games enable and our liturgies co-mingle in an inkling of the I. your mind succumbs to the soul. the rabid rain is ironic and the font you spell ' god ' with is all scrawl and scrumptious. you lump this dream into your dolphin of Delphi and squeak cute symphonies of deep brood. you choose your Oblivion. and that's how Angels kiss. they force the Word through your Animus and greet your weakness with squinty eyes and Lion's breath. you're the next best thing since that one thing that had no soul for god to play with. it never complained. you might look and you might not see what you're not supposed too. but i know you'll be happy with lemon-drops and long dark naps.
that's how we do,
like a crispy pillow is a cloud with a lobotomy and all my barbed wire is wine. Like i'm the king of unbearable sublime. you anoint the fallen. i spike the punch, judy. you sunshine.
eulogies wet the pavement. darth mauls the halls of our peril and the dry sparrows
you had no love but you had a thing that went thump when you met her. and some other cocka-mamy thing. and your narrow view of the wide ha ha and the mute " **** this " and why not?
we're all caught in the same frame and the gorgons are massive. you have to elect a hero to laugh at Death with and might get a girl. you're nothing at all and that infuriates the reality you were dreamt with. you have no kin, but your family hasn't been.... you were unhinged from the stark grim and the tide pool. why do you think i say things that ain't been language but has always been lingua nova ? why would i lie ? this is the scepter of the vengeful design and the glee demons of first love sipping from a chalice of lost love with closed eyes. this is the pier and the ocean. the dime store Picasso hanging the velvet Elvis with the perfect circles with the little cube inside...