Somehow becoming diminished like a plump-bottom tree frog thrown high into the gilded purple sky.
Falling down, splattered like spinach, blotted by funk, the beholder pales in comparison to the eye.
Crying through this blessed life as it drags its curdled carcass sorely through soggy, city streets.
Kaleidoscope beat somehow broken, shorn from the sails, poopship party aboard, listing into the pride of the fleet.
Burnt like verdant copper slag, crawling like king snakes, slithering by children, whose maws gape with no wonder.
We’ve been worn down into flesh addicts, scrabbling across prairie moons, whilst time renders all asunder.
Posing in the arena, faking flaky fisticuffs, put ‘em up to the sprawl, aloft on shadowy boxcar dreams.
A flash in the pandemic pondering, downshifting to climb up and out of heresy, staring widely into the high beams.
An aged-old blend of bullets and beer power these dastardly illusions, turning grapes to raisins, all is crushed by the swollen sun.
Flogging donkeys down by the harbor, roping gangs of ass together, taking part in the braying from which I am ever trying to run.
