Wrecking orb ripping your soul, frenetic king’s prance
ravaging your thing in itself backing in like a fat Benz
into your tents and camps, my rant scatters the scavengers
from the fields of your damages, castle of mental radishes
Whirling dervishes, lingering perfumes of dirty
conditioning, flow thickening, try sinking in this mercury
churches trying to turn and burning me into eternity
for the world to see this seed creep too deep into it’s it’ fraternities
and sororities, and so on with the priorities
old lorries ploughing thoroughly through the gorges of the 40’s
forgotten worlds like Dorothy’s, lure of recurring stories
of merry moments slashed by jagged worries
of urgencies, returning fulminating dialtones
viable via viagara only dying on a vine-hoes
I baptize with icicles, fire spice and grindstones
the silence into your mind as the blinds close.
Is this even philosophical? it’s kind of psychotropic in it’s topicals.
federal cannibals eat my nanny’s stuffed animals…
Yo!