God speaks to me
You can't say he doesn't
There's nothing down for you
Nor none of your cousins.

When you enter a glade
That stretches
Far and wide
Strewn with
Glacial erratics
Left there by times tide

If they be laced heavy
With moss
Then tread
Careful there
For that is
Earth's calendar
Beyond
Human care.

Trevor the kempt
Was the old kings son
he insisted
On sartorial eloquence
Beyond farce
He died in his first battle
With a sword up his ****.

Can one sing the blues
Without drinking
The *****?
It seems to be
A progenitor
Driven stylus
To **** and moan
About what you become
Seems like a pissheads
Showy analysis

Who knows the raw spirit?
What could they be talking about?
When would it apply
And when would
It produce a song
Or movie
With clout?

Why don't we know
When we think we know
When we know the most
Surely it's obvious
At the critical point
** **!

Give me a clear spirit
Devoid of cactus or peat
Histamines
Turpines or blood
An intoxicant
That can
So I can
Stand
Before
The flood.