Hand-fed triumph, spoils.
|
Battles which you cant recall fighting in.
|
This fancies your fit.
|
You've settled down for a long winter's nap;
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Simply grown tired of cheap thrills, but it's been years upon years of craving simplicities.
|
Oh, the knavery / depravity!
|
Sentences become paragraphs become novels on cold fronts, warm backs.
|
And this town needs an enema.
|
I'll pass the time with a rhythm and a rhyme.
|
That rhyme needs a good once over, but I'm no joker.
|
I've seen people explode.
|
Pieces!
|
You can't kill what's already dead.
|
Subconscious white noise mauls prose.
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Odd, superflous sounds.
|
This is a physical challenge, well-beyond a double dare.
|
Commit to a legacy.
|
On with all the fireworks and the parades.
|
God-willing a momentum of silence.
|
Silence!
|
It's what we'll all eventually have in common
|
|
-----------------
|
Operation: Work; Lift-Face
|
| Folly |
