Files and folders- the Djinn and should we whelp?
the show has little purse for olders
What if its a trial, the young mock the one,
that skacks, when ale and saffy zing are the one?
Oh and that's not rather peachy, lily lithely matters,
and at the slip tongue the slap,
reality informs don't talk back
And thus any other force of reality,
perhaps is void, the cultural impurity,
it's deception they divinate on the impure
with aggressive discoveries
which might and mist at anytime say
I and I the holy I have seen and tasted that
which ye had, and make for rounds so sure,
to play my sanity as the fealty,
There's only the one...
then as it slips, what can one say, the femmes pop!
and they see it has a taste of sounds- for the civil.
You and them their all about pranks as you!
Places that understanding works words they scatter then reopen
As honey and reticence of the Witch, which everyone's former lords claim to own
This presuming light is pretty, makes not so much as a stitch in the running quilts
of time and the so pretty!... as what thy's Mary pushed and pressed into
awaiting war derivatives, malevolence and regress....
Then and now
my knife work was fully done
/ no rational texture, no performance,
for the play had been begun and won!
Now and Now not Then Yet, No! The twinkle that feaks off the emirate strain of pacified (pacific)
Phones, drops, lives, through every self vision of windows
Into a place which does displace my sanity and every sound!
