Dear friends,
I got a mantle, and the mantle is a candle, and my candle is a flame that burns to symbolize the day Gretel met Hansel. Then I settle at a stand still. Ok, I lay me down to sleep, creepin’ a slumber under red skies, heads splittin’, straight sippin’ a drip of dead vibes. It’s red tides from here, stop and smell analog hell, clenchin’ a stench of burnin’ logics and a child with yearning optics. I used to have a rope ladder but tattered were the rungs, I strung it from the highest willow, trying to hug the sun. You’re cordially invited to accompany me, in rotations of the tables to label the opposition. As I choose, refusing to evolve with the cold, rapidly dissolved my involvement in a solvent of soul and roll back Oh it’ll be soon, balloon immune to doom blend, I ain’t ditchin’ the kitchen til every spoon bends. I’m quadruple six plus scruples category mayhem stems, so one overlooked the scene including loopholes.
Let ’em shake a little, then release ’em, like, as if ghostly hysterics would leech on band aid completion. While cannily panicking was the average. I broadcast modern boredom mesozoic poetry pupils. Caught up in scruples from the inimical nature of my program. Billy-goat beard twenty years in the making, carried lures in his brim, carried beer in his waders, stinked like alcohol of all prominent flavors, carried knives in his vest, carried war in his nature. Sat among the forest floor critters and pine cones, could tie a perfect fly with his eyes closed, veteran angler with a mission to run, make all naysayers hold t-t-t-tongues
Oh it’ll be soon, balloon immune to doom blend, I ain’t ditchin’ the kitchen til every spoon bends.
Let ’em shake a little, then release ’em, like, as if ghostly hysterics would leech on band aid completion.
Sat among the forest floor critters and pine cones, could tie a perfect fly with his eyes closed, veteran angler with a mission to run.
