crosseyed to entrapment, to the brisket wearing pink,
to the ink of stable spelling bee.
through the voice of armagedden bright and aired;
one-legged, drab as beardless forelock,
grazing on the sad plum hill of mainstream codes of conduct.
what light from years of glucose came the sapless branch to wander?
that times the days. the days of distance breaking chords of compromise;
when all is choice of norm\', or bitter arguement.
the son of snail hung out to dry,
to wile away the flowers now the minutes, caged and bandaged,
bleed only blood of bible on the teeth of hands dismembered.
three stars less each night to shave and boil,
there are many more, i\'m sure.
marauders masked. grim reapers to the testaments of time still unremembered.
when the brain began; so rang the psychic bell of modern day acceptance;
behead. be dead. woodpecker sex on a yellow trampoline!
she is my man. i am her maid. as pale as she is green,
if heaven breeds just sugar must the sex of diabetic go the hell?
look beyond Loch Ness.
to the thatched room blessing pancake,
to the edge of the red wine world to far above;
tomorrow we are human.
today? we are two animals in love;