Dove of HopeNeedle to My Hole,Some things will never be the applaudable cause of what bores mejust as Hallelujah is the unreal tealin my painted sky that I'd never be inclined to outline -even in bimodal bargaining.A stale tale of rabid rights holds roach-encroaching scarab glintand the fantastic plastics of an idle Bibleget you hot somehow.Baring the globes of a Goddessschlopped onto you;Pendulous givingsfrom a white-washed whore ~ godlessness in a scented, stretchy training cottonAnd you, so surprisedhow many denya toothless nurse upon the devilSod I piss in daily;that failing alloy of gospel's wailingNo fi
Super Novas.That grill frames a flammable breatherand all the bites that ignite it.You heat the flow of brassy gaswhile the abrading taste towards rusty rehash remains.Eyes,the plastered glassmade up of insects from sign-less intersections.Windshield wipers squealon an antenna'ed frame of steelas you high-wax all the white-resistant truths.The once-in-awhile brake-check detects a depth, except...all your oils leakmuch the wayfilters falterupon exposure to watered down air.A high mileage hindranceupon blubber-rubber treadsYou hydroplaneeven at sleeper speeds...a two-man jobof tension beltswhile revvin
Diner PinersUnkempt gents minding their ownand the scraggly hags that avoid them;wallsmore see-through than windows they occupyare these newspapered ghosts with addendums.Wiley beards and crooked brassieresare met with smirking resolveas origami halos from non-absorb napkinsform a moot youth that dissolves.A perfect coffeestains the yapthey'll never live long enough to brightenwhile personification's memorypays towards the tab;a slow-moving bullet much like them.Those Rabis & Witchesdress their last daysin mothy green tweeds and cat hairin hopes of hands-free spiritual exchangeas much as they both hate to be there.
Yearly RoundsSisters of Holy Skirt - Church of InertOur Lady of ill-netted WhalesA place on the dockthey sweep free of rotand hang their wet socks on a nailWith eels and alein buckets - these paleskinned fishmonger loggers will bingeCages snap-damagedsalt ground in their Habitshas yet to wipe off their grinsThrowing out fliesfor Top Feeder's eyesDistracting all "back-ya-go" tossersPraying and waitingtheir bible thus statingA Sister eats only what costs her
Oak Table FablesJacobs and JabbersCorn cob stabbersAll meat eating creaturesknow a little somethingabout dumplings on a stick.And the one sick trick is tofigure outthe amounts of gout that would put them off their feed.To playDiseased and dead on gravy breadworks in cases like these.
How's your holidays been so far?
Odd how this is also the most strained and complicated it's ever been.
I guess this was the year of stormy truth.
I'm swimming and the water is just fine.
Many thanks, Peter!