I think I'll signal guru Bob that I've had quite enough of his implicit stress therapy as he calls it I've contacted the hunchback ***** banks for a safe deposit box until I bolt the ashram with the last flood of disobedience guru Bob waves his signing stumps and I go nuts trying to figure out the message behind the message which was whatever happens keep this out of the tabloids I threw the Studebaker into reverse and scorched the tires upstate in order to stop the madness of hope divided by exctly zero as the horizon failed to recede or vice versa being we were in reverse years from now forensic miners will stumble upon these passages and be unsure if this is the he or the he behind the he somewhat unable to repair the scrap heap damage after having been repeatedly ***** trained by wrecking yard executives with cutting torches fat as spring worms free like sniffing hyenas fortunately sugar appears to be universally pleasing and bought me some time to think have we gotten to the topology segment what's wrong with a philosophy of surface hi what's your sign I'm a capricornucopia delusion A against delusion B a cosmic food chain of ransoming angels I'm just trying my best to avoid the hell words like cooked and eaten cooking with Rosetta Stone eating with zealots and lynch mobs in the how wide can you talk contest where the taboo behind the taboo reverses us to Black Plague status and the subsequent Violet Plague too where clouds of flies lurk in church doorways their buzzing can be infinitely instructive even if it's the last thing you hear with a flat rock for a pillow bless my clumsy adolescence Bob rosy dawn into evening's umber
From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon