at tea time we sit, like magazines, that aren't even there
still it's only slightly obscene
like a slight from the media
can turn you right around
and the bristles of the toilet brush get all jammed with ****
Is it ever enough,?
to trust, to relay, to behave, to offer something to ride on?
all ****** puns aside, there's a twist there somewhere
but what's it's preponderance?
Something undefinable? a wringing out of a doves neck in pursuit of anguish?!
The towns they keep growing, as the oceans keep revolving
marry me humidity and then there shall be no more overwhelming adroitness!
But hear the succour of a ******* lounging or standing or straying around
and you will fnd a  crown full of teleknesis,
asuaged, drowned and drafted by a atrocity that seemed in the end amounted to no more than an annoyance, but at the time was much, much more.

redemption song Lord. Amen,that.