Manly Trousers Pressed Into Ejactulating Spats

MANLY TROUSERS PRESSED INTO EJACTULATING SPATS THIS man of god large belly and buttons with a big gollywog voice \his madness of conviction for personal interpretation //behind psychosis and need for control. ticks and rolls his eyes his lips rubberish proclaiming righteousness: for dullards — persuasive. ]\ Both sides feed the madness; one side — a voice of God! the other; REPENT so intelligence prevails, while the spirit and soul snitches weak mindsEAT confused souls. the grey light of not KNOWING, our lightheaded twic twoc inlgy attacks a need for clarity. a world spins unknowingly as though consciousness is ether. i too admit it is oppressive how man espouses thoughts into reality! lot of his physiognomy; their manly trousers pressed into ejaculating spats. blind eye leads to face — well-runed. THIS dance! This trance! Silence breakers. An old man in beige, like a janitor in the back bedroom of a barrio waiting on the lid to drop. the priest is dropping his trousers. NARCOTICS: the ancient gods and our feelings towards them a lance of fire – a brain with a mother’s milk. a protective shield, thanks to the invention of machine purity also possible for many. NEED to know needs to know callousness accepts. conduit and refined quartz weather radar connects, the asphalt bridge crossing a broad river of chemicals A DREAM, a heaven’s journeY. The soul journeys through a desert of twisted words, a psychic bubble where five guys in sandals watch a laser show but not really see a cartoon mouse and a smiley guy climbing the mountain that houses a naked reptile with a webbed hand that flings its claws. Of kindness :: 12.21.2020 ::