The soaring light strove on into the limited lower atmosphere with little hesitation, pausing upon reentry with a flash bulb puzzle thunder crash dashing the tombs of the unknown soldier into boulders for holders of the pot. The simple spastic, frantic rocket combusts spraying praying remarks upon the mantle on the rental unit I lost my love in. Shove the knife in again to befriend the end of dissent. You, blind chugging on, we sipping delightfully in this twisted thorn in the side. Frail crumbling remarks undarkened by the angels remarks unstained to the brain drained of LSD and suppositories for the sin in the winning. Delving down deeper to the core I implore the second. The second of this now to slow the course for we are on a disillusioned course for the divorce from time and high dive in the madness of the one. Still, one. Climbing, falling, rapidly, dissolving, resolving, the talk in we the steeping tea on the shelf for weeks, the cry unanimous of freedom, even among the dumb.
Those that would devilishly delve into that sacred womb of her. She. We. Her. The free reeling in disposition, at the winning smile of crying stye eyed boys. The torn socket, popped lost locket for the mother of the soldier. The locket holds a key for the rocket to be set free. From We, the, the, the one touching uncovering smothering, orgasm wrenched in the stench of sex and candy and steak, the break from tossed lockets, popped sockets and the like. Some other thing delves into me, telling me to strive to the edge of the cliff and jump, take a stiff bump and a shotgun pump to the roof of your mouth in your mothers bath tub. Do I have something to say or is this the way? Maybe just a reeking spirit falling out of my imaginary asshole of spiritual dialog on a log filled with rot for bees, the stinging we in the dream stinking out the dying I, in the try. The floating question mark block floats on among the assumptions of one touching the endeavor of this one play, one stage, one dream, fleeing on we, sing, play, dance, cry, cry, for the times and ones lost, the angry remarks lost to the heart of a lover and now you discover,...ahhhh. For stinging again the bees in this alter bridge are getting into my teeth and beard, the searing of the hot sun, too bleached white and white, and despite the dying and trying of the under colors, white again. The friend in me soaring to deplore the retractable action fallen upon the graces of the one sun, the one breath, the river crivering the crime of unwinding the winds steep ascent to madness, this glorious we. Crying.
Marvelous, absolutely marvelous. Sinew on the bone of this home is leaking like mitochondria mycelium. The helium depleting the balloons flight.
