I never asked you for the things you gave me
I never asked
But you didn't even care

If I had asked,
would you have shut me out?
Or would you have given more?
Of your overflowing wine
of life or love or energy
( or whatever it was
  that you folded into my hands
  like the most secret-sacred treasure map )

You would sometimes catch me
In a gaze like a doe
Ask me things
That took time to sink in
Because I was being distracted
By my urge to count your eyelashes

We could never go outside in the cold
Because you were terrified
That your breath would crystallize  and twist inside your lungs
But you loved to see how long you could hold your breath for
Underwater

There would be pauses
As time stilled to take a look at us
To check that we really were still there
And everything around us swirled
Like autumn leaves or glitter stars
Our glances would solidify
And memory struck out to capture snapshots

Everly, I never asked
Not even once, but you still gave
Everly, I can't quite grasp

I see you sometimes
When the sunshine's wounding bright
Yellow, cheerful, heavenly
And I look into the shadows
To find rest for my eyes
I can never keep straight the present and the past
So when I look in the shade
I see ghosts of you sprawled out, laughing, head tilted back, hands splayed

Your sighs were soft
But you only ever sighed them
When your face shone
With a lovely glow of indulgence

We watched Hitchcock religiously
We wouldn't give them up
You said that you liked Vertigo the best
But you never told me why

I'll hold your friendship
In the cup of my hands
While wonder fills up slowly
Where my thoughts should be
I'll peer over my thumbs
To steal a peek at the clear blue crystalline
Effervescent memories

I will remember you foreverly
My word

Every now and then
I go deep inside my mind
Just to have a little rest
And see what I can find
I don't go in there often
It dark and I must say
That sometimes I'm afraid
That I may lose my way

There's a little corner café
Where Groucho sits alone
Stan Laurel sits there writing gags
And Greta Garbo sits and moans
Sinatra sings for all of them
John Lennon talks to God
Brian Jones gives swimming lessons
There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd

Over in the distance
At a table in the corner
Hemmingway sells movie scripts
To mogul man Jack Warner
Elvis does a hip shake
Ruth and Gherig playing catch
Bud and Lou do Who's on First
Humphrey Bogart lights a  match

Charles Dickens playing darts
A red balloon comes floating by
Andy Warhol sits with Nico
Where German pop songs go to die
Marilyn and James Dean
Sit quietly talking on the stairs
John Kennedy and his brother Bob
Just pretend that they are both not there

Chico  plays piano and
Harpo  with his  harp
Bad jokes float around the room
being told by silent stars
Phil Everly and Phil Ramone
They're new here so they're woozy
Sit talking of the songs they'll miss
Rick Nelson sings of Susie

You see it is a mad mad place
in my head when I may wander
I don't go in too deep
And I've  met Henry Fonda
There's images, and icons
Family, and  friends
on a little street inside my head
That's a circle with no ends

I do love
But it ain't quite
like the Discovery Channel!!!

I want so much more than
the collective desire of Park Avenues

I believe like,

With exactly no doubt
like zero are the hours
which can never count
upon the seamlessness
of my perceptions

I do but I don't
I am and therefor not

I talk in mirrored tongues
I observe in uncanny detail

Micro and macro all a flow
overly ever rushing torrents
moving galaxies about

Pouring in
more rushes out

You can picture it
over the mighty edges of
and rushing to, fro and about
every swirling an obstacle stout

Though such knows not
one another in such ways
inseparable upon one journey

As She manifests from her he, Self
He's giving for he gets the She of,

An ever persuasive passionate,

Play... .. .

Greater than the dreams

We know of love yet
Shy to conceive

They, their passion
.........
  .....
   ...
    "
    '
We inwardly receive

Those torrential lovers
pourings do spillover
and on and over
and rush upwards
ah ever more easily!!!

Vast sensualities
******* rhythms
of this a, Our universe
in micro exotic intoxicating
allure, irresistibly entwining
the smallest tastes and teases
of songbirds loving symphonies

As butterfly and a bee in the ever
sweet scents of psychedelic sighting
wavings in ever inviting ever ripening
ever flows of heavens manna sweets, but
sours the way short where some say sinners
ought never see or be, though such is silliness see,

For such shy glimpses of what is less than momentary
which is not countable, when our greatnesses will carry on
beyond our redemptions of what only we shall see clearly so
simply, one day twas the dark night of a soul, here blasphemed
about the sacredness of all ever evident being so close found fondly,

Sweetly, though lost in those ever aching wishes of our journeying together

Would death be ****** abandonment at all a freaky thing unconceived
dark night of the great light conceived viewed in our ever grace and beauty
but she lets you feel her he's and all the glory, all the glory an unrealized being
in all our collectiveness has not yet seen but in the depths of where it's consider dark
for simple decisions we all have and must have made to function here, there

and at all,
at once...

No time, no space, no EMC squared's
yet in Newtonian fashion the soul spirit remains
carries on in infinite motion and motions of our choosings
and for better and worse we do all about the same for we
were never thrilled about all the separation we discovered
in reluctance and or in blessed joys of great companies
of loving hearts, eyes, ears, arms with tender loving
caring hands of nurture enough twas enough for
you are still here now and those who have not
have forgiven all other misguidance eagerly
when it is easily found tis only our own
choice to be and set free freely

And I can want any petty desire too
and put myself up for adoption to,

The petting zoo
and you...

For hell yeah I want to be here
all the way and with you
my wayfarers

I Do...

do do dee da da
oo la la and ma mama

childs all of such grace
we oft just call gods

And greater love seen
dispensed philosophically
by self proclaimed atheism's

Denialism can rather be the truth
of atheism, self pitying so deeply
resenting the here now for some
overly wishful thinkings and
of mournful emotionalism's
about the 'it just ain't fairs'

Beware they will take you
to their wheres, wearing
their wares of self hate
while glossfully
painting in
glitterings
of fools
gold

Feign not thou
we are co conspirators
already decidedly agreed
agreeably dancing on the sharp
end of one pointed pin, hand holding

But remember if we were ever shaken
off of binding bonds ever closefully as
the chasms of divergences really are

We still ever dance ever lightly on
the everly fine poignancy of pin

And the illusion of being
garden casted for some
shamefully blameful
denials of the snakes
sly fashion to even
ones need of feed

And or wither from
the long and short
of journey with
the ever's of

here now...

Paradise
Perfectly

Paradoxically

In our
every
way

So I am
in great hunger
greater thirst firstly

For the one great illusion
desert stricken for not seeing
the forest of paradise for every
tree and every grace of all possibility

Without such would come from impossibility*

Once Again...

I dated two robots yesterdays
Both were programmed to service me well
We did things
In the same
good old  
learned order
of doing things
And after sunset
we kissed
at the beach
With one -
our feet touching
With the other -
our view inviting
the rush of salty waves
Alas
Both robots could suddenly
not speak
One even bluffed
he had a virus in throat
AI intelligence?!
jaa ha ha
The other was hanging just with
With variations of
what do you feels
Tell me your fantasy s
‘Don't think
tell me whatever comes first’ s

And
I believe
And
I say
But
Mine is what he can't understand
His’ is
I think a drink on the beach
But unfortunately I don't drink
Using coconut biotica only
These days
Ahhahhaa
...
While they chatted so well!
Without any error of a word to spell!
…

I dated two robots yesterday
That sighed only to say
I can't believe I am holding yous
How much I missed yous
Hugging robots
Vibrating robots
Robots with small mouth and twister tongue
Ready to penetrate into mine at a slightest chance of an opening
A disguised disgust of my sincere failure
not towards the robot but myself
Hiding you still under my palate
from where the soma of your love drips
Now as if forcefully been replaced
to a taste of this preprogrammed chatalike

Have they lost their voice because of my best dress
or maybe the fantasy of the sandy bikini
which they will never see
in the dark wherein
Both hiding their face
But I see
By my loose body parts
Maybe a lookalike
But I ain't no robot

Oh my sandy bikini
Oh Chosen so carefully
To rejuvenate their fantasy
a different pattern for each-
yes. I do take care of that!
Stays now
as an Everly Brothers’ dream
In my mind only

But
My ‘okey ‘ is an ensuring
‘yes yes’ the Indian way
Of course
They did their best
Seriously
Thus
A big CHAPEAU
For the zest
That obviously still can break china hearts
I took it as a test
To get to know me better
Let me be broken through your dream
Let me cry and shake and perceive an angry cloudy color world
let my remains of china burst

I dated two robots yesterdays
while expecting for a man
Thankfully though
these are yesterdays
Today I met a true man
A gypsy
We will date sometime
Play tabla and darbuka
Drink dance and sing
And sleep
To salute the sun
early in the morning
At the beach

Lizbeth holds the dress against her. It's new, her mother had bought it for her. The cloth is smooth and soft, but she doesn't like it. She looks at the dress in the mirror inside the wardrobe. She puts the dress down on the bed and takes off the dress she is wearing and lets it drop to the floor, kicks it out of the way. She picks the new dress off of the bed and put it on and pulls at the hem to pull it down fully. She twirls, looking at the dress and how it looks as she twirls. The colour's all wrong; the hang of it she loathes. It falls beneath her knees; too far below. She lifts the dress until it comes above her knees. She twirls again. If only Benedict was here, see muses, if only his eyes were here looking beside me. She lifts the dress higher and smiles. Mother would never approve of that length. She lets the dress drop to the given length. Boring. The material is old fashioned, she thinks, ******* it, pulling at the hem. The dress she pointed out to her mother while shopping in Midhurst was shorter and more colourful and didn't have silly bows at the back. Her mother didn't like it. It would make you look like a ****, her mother had said, like one of those tarts on that pop music show prancing around semi-dressed. She hadn't thought her mother had watched the 6.5 Special Show, but she had. She twirls again and looks in the mirror for any saving details of the dress, but there aren't any. The dress is drab and she will not wear it; she'll put it at the back of the wardrobe and forget it's there. She takes it off and lets it fall to the floor and stamps on it, then kicks it away. She sighs and gazes at herself in the mirror in underclothes and bra. Where is Benedict when you want him? She muses, putting her hands on her hips. Probably on the farm; working in the milk sheds weighing the milk or clearing out the cowsheds, as he did on weekends or after school. She had managed to get him to this room once while her parents were out, but it was to no avail and nothing happened. Her mother is downstairs preparing lunch; she can hear the pots and pans being used; a radio playing some classical stuff. She picks up her old dress and puts it back on. The new dress she hangs on a hanger and puts it at the back of her wardrobe and shuts the door. The old dress, black with red flowers, is becoming small and tight. It reaches just above her knees now and her mother said it was not decent to wear any more, but she wears it and loves it, even if it is tight and holds her firm. She walks the length of her room like a model, swaying her hips, hand held aloft, head tilted. She flops onto her bed and throws out her arms and looks at the ceiling. To think she had Benedict here on this bed that time and nothing happened; God how frustrating. There is plenty of time to think of boys, her mother had said, you're just thirteen, why when I was your age I was playing with dolls and skipping with a rope. Lizbeth hadn't played with her dolls for years; her skipping rope was at the bottom of the wardrobe unused. She sits up and looks at her room. The record player is on the floor by the window; an LP of the Everly Brothers in on the turntable; the sleeve is on the floor next to a cup and saucer, partially covered by soiled underclothes. She was a lazy girl, her mother said, too lazy for her own good. Her father(when he was home at all) said nothing much except how far he had travelled and how many orders he had managed to obtain. A girl at school( in a higher class) had given her a book with illustrations about *** with orders not to let other see it. She had gone through the book umpteen times(mostly gawking at the photos and illustrations) and trying to put into practice what she had read there. The book is at the bottom of the wardrobe in a brown paper bag tied with string( just in case her mother snooped around.) She wants *** with Benedict. She has tried to get him to perform many times, but he is reluctant, makes excuses. She doesn't want other boys. She wants one boy. Benedict. The book has an illustration what the boy has to do and the girl also. She has studied it so many times it is printed on her mind. There is also other illustrations about other things which she finds a bit distasteful. If her mother ever found the book, there would be hell to pay(providing her mother didn't drop with shock). She sighs. Closes her eyes. Embraces herself. Kisses her arms; pretends it is him, his lips kissing. She opens her eyes and stares; he is not there; he is missing.

My teacher told me,
"Write something.
It's required."
So, I did.

And it hurts,
to put it down
on paper,
to share it with the world.

But I was inspired.
He inspired me.
It's a mess of all the things in my head,
but it all comes back to him.

it hurts
when you see someone this attractive.
he has messy brown hair
with golden streaks

and eyes
like a oceanic abyss.
he smiles as if
i'm the funniest thing in the world.

and his laugh
is the music
my ears have unknowingly longed to hear
all my life.

he's a musician,
an actor.
his voice is like the rocks on the shores
that sirens lured sailors into.

it's the rough,
raspy,
most beautiful kind
of angelic.

he's beautiful,
and
i think
i love him.

~Ashton Grayson Everly

I know it inside me
And I can feel it
Everyone has it to some degree
A beauty about them
Everyone will be loved
Everyone finds someone
To love them

But I haven't found him

So much lust
From men with the wrong beauty for me
I feel just like them
Looking for the one
I want to love
But it's not returned
It's never returned

I can't wait
I can't wait

Is he brown-haired and tweed?
Is he a four-eyed blond?
Is he full of confidence?
I have so many hopes and crushes
Crushed

Is he perfect or almost perfect?
Or one of those men with the wrong beauty?
Will I settle?

No, I won't back down.
I'm an idealist so I won't back down.
You can't make me settle
Like they did in 1391.
You can't make me settle
Like they did in 1391.
You can't make me settle.
Like Erin Everly.

You got the face of an angel
Honey  nothing lasts forever
I´ll feed you the lies
It´s all the same
A pleasant  taste of  heartache
You taste like vanillin mixed  with bipolar
Nothing  ever  grows out of pity
darling,
I´ll  cherish the smell
of your decaying  past
in your everly growing collection of perfume
With hints of  dementia and white floral
Once  you fill every  space  with
your  true  love
whos name  you dont mention

O monogamy, sweet so monogamy
Have me by this rimy night so I may bear your cold’st kiss
To espy eyes blazed in scarlet hue
If not for this holding us part, touching firm this instance
Of what I feel now I could not feel ever,
Could I bask in aughts - a goodness too true as so a sight worth sights
If pulchritude, if vagary...
To innerstand this sorrow, this phase, this ending of me
So lovesick of vanity, this night owes me tears
But tonight she has me, by her brassiere, by lips
Tangl’d in manner and salaciousness - her being to be
Wonder of me, wonder me; if I ever your knight
Wonder if I am enough, manifest your ways unto me
Demand I exist, under your eyes
Impart this velleity, four ways for ways...
Have me, O monogamy
With you will I always be? Your sabbath, your blind’st bliss as too mine
Split with me another moment for much time has rot
Mongst this lour’st hour my heart is wounded by the thorns of essence
To think we are but not cause to this grieve
In sooth; this everly passion now a mortal’s pule
Stay with me on this last’d night
A midnight kiss, a midnight touch, fragrance, a gentle glare...
Monogamy, monogamy.

IMGAYGAYMEANSHAPPYIMFEELINGGAYTODAYYOUSEEMYFINGERSSNAPPINGIWANNAS­EETHEWORLDDONTFEELLIKENAPPINGTODAYIMQUEERLETSBECLEARWHENISAYTHEWO­RDQUEERIMEANECCENTRICORWEIRDANDLETMETELLYOUALLIMBEINGSINCEREWHENI­SAYTHERESNOTHINGWRONGWITHBEINGQUEERILIKEMENMYFELLOWMENWOMENANDMEN­ANDEVERYTHINGINBETWEENANDBEYONDWOMENANDMENILIKEEVERYONETHEENDOKAY­IMGAYBUTTHATSNOTQUEERWHATSSOSTRANGEABOUTHOLDINGMENDEARIMCHEERYBEC­AUSEIMGAYANDIMOKAYWITHME

-THOMASSANDERS
~Ashton Grayson Everly

Charped lips,
A dry heart,
A deep craving,
Thoughts aflame,
Gasoline filled,
Soul burning,
To ashes,
Red heart turning,
To cooling coal,
Burnt to bone,
Nothings left,
Except that heart,
The one beating,
For You,
The blood flowing,
In You,
My darling still,
My love for you still,
Flows everly so,
Like blood in your veins,
Even through deep pains,
To love you Ill always will.

My love’s front cannot ever dim in essence. To my fellow men whom may see a beauty within a realm of naked sights. It is not ever that a beautiful sight has become less in its vibrant and sacred ways, it is forever the eye that shifts in trueness for it now everly trite. Never falter by your beloved’s lovest parts, gape firmly at god, gape at your treasure for it matters not if deemed gold or copper. Beauty is beauty.

Soone must come morely close for a man as I  of tim’d depression and despair
Ergo mine armour in regards to persist has me not but men of more lingering taste
Thy lord I true to be but to forsake me, and I to bereave, lament and lust
Rather so I’d ought to make amends with my sorrowful part as it perishes into the galactics
...to heave my heart and arts into the constance of stars and ablaze such ebullition of a passion and admiration I canst no longer contain
I shall wayt everly for us to be one for an instance once more
Untold; I know not if one couldst say this to be the elegy or the orb of euphony but forsooth it is...to the Herald of Lovers.

stuttering,
panting,
increased heart rate...
nervous?

smiling,
excitement,
fluttering heart...
happiness?

scared,
nervous,
excited...
"LOVE!"

~Ashton­ Grayson Everly

The cold winter wind is blowing
the breath out of my lungs.
Even in the summer.
Cause this winter called depression
lives in my mind.

But I don't act that way?
Yeah, you're right.
It's not an act.
It's who I am
and I can't change that.

My heart races and I try not to black out
as I ground myself
because Anxiety and Panic Attacks
are my two best friends
and they never leave me alone.

But I don't act that way? Right again.
I spare the people around me,
the people I'm close to,
the people I love
from this hell that haunts me day and night.

The view from my closet
is not the same as the view from the living room windowpane.
But I can't come out into the open, because
no one will let me
I will hide forever and suffer in silence.

But I don't act that way?
I hide who I am because I am a disgrace.
No one understands and
it
hurts.

My broken pieces
don't fit together anymore,
and I'm waiting
for someone to notice
because I can't take it.

But I don't act that way? No, I don't.
Because when I do,
I'm written off as "****** and annoying"
or "faking it and selfish"
or "on my period and just causing drama."

But I hold it together.
And I **** well
don't have to prove my pain
to you.
It's not your pain,
not your business,
not your sob story to hear
because you feel like faking pity.
It's mine.
And I'm done letting you dictate what it looks like.

~ Ashton Grayson Everly

"  H      O       L      D,

H      O      L      D

        O
            N

H    ­  O      L      D

        O     T
            N     O

              M
                  E,

cause i'm a little

U     S                     ...
    N     T             Y
                E      D
                    A

a little

U     S                     ..."
    N     T             Y
                E     D
                    A

                                        ­                                            ~Ashton Grayson Everly

You were my everything.
My light;
my world;
my life.
I loved you.
What happened to us?
I don’t know what I was thinking. It clearly wasn’t going to work.
Do you know why? It’s because you’re too cold to feel anything.
You were chatting it up with everyone
except the girl who fell hopelessly for you the day she met you.
You were gone before you ever left. I lost you before I got lost myself. You were the last bit of light before the darkness came and captured me. To this day, I am still in love with you.
No matter how many people say that I don’t know what love is,
I know that I felt it with you.
It was different than anything I’ve ever felt before.
You make me weak in the knees and I can’t think when I’m around you.
I gave you my heart, and you dropped it.
I would rather you had given it to someone else.
But you dropped it and it cracked. You stepped on it; it shattered.
You left me a broken girl with an empty heart.
I can’t feel anything except the effect you have on me.
I am an unmarked box that gets returned to the sender;
a poison apple;
a lost cause.
I am the broken girl with the broken heart;
with the ghost smile;
with the stuttered breaths.
I am left behind and I am not the same.
Because of you, I am no longer the happy little ray of sunshine
with the bright smile.
I am a hollow person;
a mere shell of the girl I was before.
I don’t smile as much anymore,
and I feel a weight on my shoulders that never leaves.
And now, I wonder, if you were to see me
in the halls,
or on the sidewalk,
or anywhere,
would you recognize me?
Would you even remember my name?
Or was it just a joke to you;
a bet maybe,
to see how badly you could break me?
You were my light;
my world;
my life.
And now
I’m consumed
by the dark.
                                                           ­          ~ Ashton Grayson Everly

Dragonfire Eyes
Shining Bright,
Revealing All
Throughout the Night.

Dragonfire Smile,
In the Sky.
Cities to Ash
We Don't Know Why.

Dragonfire Flames
In the Night,
Completely Shutting Out
The Fairy Lights.

Dragonfire Lost,
As All Fire Dies.
Creating Secrets,
Spreading Lies.

Dragonfire Hides
Out of Sight.
Filling People
Up With Fright.

Dragonfire Dream
Flying By.
Can't Be Caught.
It's up too high.

Dragonfire Fears,
A Chilling Bite.
Breathing In and Out
Is A Serious Fight.

Dragonfire Heart
Feelings Try
To Take Over My World,
Unsatisfied.

Dragonfire Love,
Heart is Tight.
Surpressing Joy
With All My Might.

Dragonfire Life,
Sad, Tis Quite.
I'm Cutting It short.
The Ending's Not Right.

~Ashton Grayson Everly

I want to be mad.
I want to hate you.
But I can't.
Cause I love you.
Why do I feel this?
You make me so helpless.
I want it
to end,
cause you're only
my friend.
And
I'm done.
-LostInStereo
~Ashton Grayson Everly

Starlight;
Star bright;
My favorite star
I've seen tonight.
I wish you may,
I wish you might,
realize you are
worth the fight.

I don't have to look that far
to know you're perfect as you are.
Even when we have a fight,
I know I'll still love you tonight.
Look and see; we've come so far.
Cause you are my favorite star.

You are my starlight;
the brightest starlight.
You brighten up my dark Black night.
You show my favorite constellation.
Orion and the Dog Star.
What a sight.

~Ashton Grayson Everly

i am renewed
i have 3 blonde streaks in my hair
i wear an anklet and an initial necklace and
gold and silver rings
this is senior year me
i always have my toes painted
and a hairtie is always on a wrist
the new and improved Everly
she still writes however more vivid
pictures to be drawn in the minds of strangers
through the coming together of letters
strung together like beaded bracelets from the deli-
more refined its magnificent
she doesnt use her pseudonym anymore
its just- her.
brown noise and its so sweet
frizzy curls entangled in music notes that swim in the air
and its all chaotic serenity

Yes, believe me you,
I (also considered the best karaoke singer
for the go-go's)
putting Shabrina Leonita to shame
back in two thousand and twenty one
once flew high as the eagles
a grateful dead foo fighting,
earth wind and fire, beastie boy adult,

thus hopefully explaining why
I joined blue oyster cult
begetting the following rhyme I exult
while exuding angelic,
beatific, electric, fantastic,
idyllic, Judaic, kaleidoscopic
halo shimmering galt
garnering heavenly indault.

Without wearing a helm mitt on my head,
yet did suffer inxs
of welts the size of cranberries
amidst talking heads, whose traffic
mishap of cars unable to stp,
thus this passenger indistinguishable from
avast metallica skidrow populated
with heart shaped pearl jam wreckage
upon smashing pumpkins everywhere
with an evanescence shimmering
like spilt midnight oil, which dire straits

charged the super ***** ping
man-made debacle into kiss
from grateful dead village people whose
beatle brows scrunched tight
creating black crows imprimatur
resembling little feet easily mistaken
for hair line fractures,
which strongly appealed to the goo goo dolls,
who lived three doors down
purportedly within which

resided a queen latifah
(an iron maiden ruling america and europe)
plus when asked for bread, she point
in one direction, mere rolling stones away
the black eyed peas, whose ac/dc power
crowded house did feel as if 10,000 maniacs
did squeeze into a tiny black hole,
thus forsaking experiencing nirvana,
with near asphyxiation attributable
to lack of air supply so carpenters got called

to expand and golong
with a gilt emblazoned cupola –
just for kix, and to lure
a silly rabbit doing trix
any wonder full stevie adore,
which teamsters included
skilled one tradesman
roof WinWrite, these collective souls,
a veritable culture club unto themselves
off phish shill lee within the a similar
reo speedwagon as sly and the family stone
choosing king crimson to manage the influx

qua motley crue, which jane's addiction
kept ideal bad company for alice n chains,
the latter whose enslavement
akin to cinderella deprived such indigo girls
to jet set with their sought after
prince charming (even resigning themselves
to a Jethro tull type), or a chap
similar to the garden variety allman brothers,
who didst serve as Lumineers
doobie brothers morale booster

to an imaginary dragon (which beastie boy
foo fighting animals owned
by the legendary kings of leon),
whose mythic storied
BuzzFeed  incorporated their encounter
with blondie (who donned a golden earring),
which Dixie chick happened to be hail a van
driven by the everly brothers,
which latter escaped be combing caged
like monkeys in a zoo,

and carved out a niche
as beach boys blessedly banished,
where they fed on red hot chili peppers
dredged via bay city rollers
to sustain their being a survivor,
and welcomed by experiencing rebirth
viz genesis, whar
mambo kings proffered palliative
to smooth kinks concomitant with cast off
as a foreigner on maroon 5.

Zealousness yowled x wise,
venturesomely urged viz thighs
sensuousness roared qua prize of nascent
marvelous libidinal kisses jeweled iridescent
hides genital fulfillment
explodes delicious capacious brides’
atonement breathtakingly conceding conception
decides elopement fashions gustatory hoopla
insides jot kickstarter
latching mightily nourishing oxides
maids visited  unmet
testosterone satiation roared.

The brothers Gibb
lit roches ****** madness
jumpstarting, mustering puckering,
snickering at barenaked lady
male fraud betraying faithful missus,
(a veritable madonna)
meowed lamentably
analogous to cat stevens
kindling joyousness indeed.

Hotmail garnered fingerhut egghead
drew capitalone BuzzFeed amen.

I'll cling to my pillow all night long
Just to have a feel of you forever
I'll hang multiple mirrors around the house
If it will make me see your images everyday

You see that favourite perfume of yours
I'll buy it off all stores in the world
So I never have to forget how you smell
Your breathe, a breathe of fresh air

Your touch, magical yet mesmerizing
I try to fight it each time we hug
But that feeling seems everly hypnotizing
That I never want to let go
Can't you see I'm wired for you?

I'm in love with you my heartbeat
You take me higher and lighten my fire
And I can't wait to do life with you
Tell me, pinky secret, do you love me too?

of scorpion stinging poison us marriage,
whereby the missus and I
experienced genesis as
mama and papa respectively.

(jest kibitizing)

thus explaining why I
(a sixty five year young adult,
albeit beatle browed)
joined blue oyster cult
to live out my dream as
a Norwegian bachelor farmer
yours truly doth exult.

Without wearing a helm mitt on my head,
yet did suffer inxs
of welts the size of cranberries
amidst talking heads, whose traffic
mishap of cars unable to stp,
thus this passenger indistinguishable from
avast metallica skidrow populated
with heart shaped pearl jam wreckage
upon smashing pumpkins everywhere
with an evanescence shimmering
like spilt midnight oil, which dire straits

charged the super ***** ping
man-made debacle into kiss
from grateful dead village people whose
beatle brows scrunched tight
creating black crows imprimatur
resembling little feet easily mistaken
for hairline fractures,
which strongly appealed
to the goo goo dolls,
who lived three doors down
purportedly within which

resided a queen latifah
(an iron maiden ruling america)
plus when asked for bread, she point
in one direction, mere rolling stones away
the black eyed peas, whose ac/dc power
crowded house did feel
as if 10,000 maniacs
did squeeze into a tine hole,
thus forsaking experiencing nirvana,
with near asphyxiation attributable
to lack of air supply
so carpenters got called

to expand and golong
with a gilt emblazoned cupola –
just for kix, and to lure
any wonder full steve adore,
which teamsters included
skilled one tradesman
roof WinWrite, these collective souls,
a veritable culture club unto themselves
off phish shill lee within the a similar
reo speedwagon as sly and the family stone
choosing king crimson
to manage the influx

qua motley crue, which jane's addiction
kept ideal bad company for alice n chains,
the latter whose enslavement
akin to cinderella deprived such indigo girls
to jet set with their sought after
prince charming (even resigning themselves
to a Jethro tull type), or a chap
similar to the garden variety allman brothers,
who didst serve to Lumineers
doobie brothers morale booster

to an imaginary dragon
(which beastie boy
foo fighting animals owned
by the legendary kings of leon),
whose mythic storied
BuzzFeed  incorporated their encounter
with blondie (who donned a golden earring),
which Dixie chick happened to be hail a van
driven by the everly brothers,
which latter escaped be combing caged
like monkeys in a zoo,

and carved out a niche
as beach boys blessedly banished,
where they fed on red hot chili peppers
dredged via bay city rollers
to sustain their being a survivor,
and welcomed by experiencing rebirth
viz genesis, whar
mambo kings proffered palliative
to smooth kinks concomitant with cast off
as a foreigner on maroon 5.

Zealousness yowled x wise,
venturesomely urged viz thighs
sensuousness roared qua prize of nascent
marvelous libidinal kisses jeweled iridescent
hides genital fulfillment
explodes delicious capacious brides’
atonement breathtakingly conceding conception
decides elopement fashions gustatory hoopla
insides jot kickstarter
latching mightily nourishing oxides
maids visited  unmet
testosterone satiation roared.

Queefer madness puckering of naked missus
(a veritable madonna)
meowed lamentably kindling joyousness indeed.

Hotmail garnered fingerhut egghead
drew capitalone BuzzFeed amen.

It's **** time! Join up! Join in! Your slot for ***** is slotted! O Lord (God of Hosts), Jeova's arrived on an Earth-en plane! Jehovah-Jireh, so everything's A-O.K.!

Don't touch my lunch box because I walk 90 miles after every meal
to lessen chances of havin' my plane highjacked flyin' at a standstill
in view of Stockholm, Sweden syndrome-loving, shrimp-eatin' krill
while liking the Everly Brothers more when Don sings without Phil
I mail fresh stool samples to the strangest women via mail man Bill
who hated the brothers mucho más mejor when Don sang over Phil
even though acrobats in prison export an ugly, plasma-filtered refill
they still let out the unholy, freely-masonic-baby-bloodletting shrill,
as 1 trial of the auld Scottish Rites include an apron-wearing ordeal