Shrimps in the water of the sky


Lost my boots inside of a dried well
Cracked caked mud hold the fossils of my time

Hey darling, do you wanna
Oh my darling would you wanna

..

I don't want to be another parking meter
Adding up the charges of a retail favor
Cast a decent look on all the in-sensation

     tell me does it hurt, tell me does it worth?

The waste, that I taste. Will increase instead of cease. So I must make to dissolve
                   To a form that will absorb.

Useless being, dancing amongst the 10,000 things
      The Fool immersed.

We start with the lesser
            Because with everything worthwhile, it’s always kind of a build up.
       And as things melt away, greater aspects unfold
                  Wearing different outfits, depending on preference. Yeah, it really gets silly like this.

So why fight it, and let the Pantheon battle for yr approval.
      As a mosh pit, swim in the melee.

Consistency is a king who refuses to grow up.

    Dig in.
Chew a little  
   That’s it

Sometimes the clockwork extracts and is presented in my observation, viewing the limited and time decay-edness of our mortality and I feel the sentimentality as the cogs move each other along. In concentrated songscapes, through the ventilated air tubes of my mechanism. Emotional condensation more of a metaphor, though agonizing and overwhelming, I am endeared to the notion of being a part of this essential Nonsense. Perceiving the ridiculous of the persevering of ‘unnatural’ forms, then recognizing them in my own patterns..
    
        I am the sharp angled sphere
    That which is the object of my revolution
      My enemy is the objection from within
     Spin this wheel of contradiction
  The sphere revealed in acceptance
    The sphere revealed is acceptance
    Release the shield, unveil protection
    Caught aflame, refuse the smolder
   Eternal bolder built illumines
  Sunrise appraised by novel mind
  Repeal time with absorption
Now is the holy potion

We sort of drift on many layered waves moving in opposing directions leaving in the middle occasionally.. get in these grooves that aren’t pleasant, kind of burnish, or temperamental.

I regularly, when looking for a reason, find nothing but a question bouncing around itself. No expansion in a tin cup.

Love is a sickness and I may be clinical
Even without a point of reflection
Extending further, further still
The echo breaks my feelings into shards of glass
Frightening me dearly, the sharpness nauseating
Paling energy and it’d be refreshing to cry
             But weakness shames in this alleyway of
              fiends
And my friends are angels, I cannot grasp
     Glimmering pasts and greeted headings
  These corporate meanderings prescribed
                                         surely is no cure
Because these cruelties extend to all possibilities
   And uglies the flower, the exquisite of being
   Why you leave.. The little self leads
             Endless mirrors pushing you back