Thermite

Warmer than the oven, hotter than the sun, jumping shotgun shouts, like dodging angry spiffy bullets. The might and magic of what might have been tragic to happen on psychic stages at a flick of thinger or some change of coin or growing up in my groin... Lament on the static fragil vigil when the would be saints are in for the looter ant paint it all black for the edgy corner got loitered again. White faces say nothing rough around the red lined smudges, as a hickup high-jacked a road to hit a Jack Daniels up and stack in the atic. Extatic my Ebenezer in his attic. Adicted into his dictionary aflicted into latin death sentences more prolific than a fishermen can bate and entomb into the chimney alumning for stewarding in the stand-up comedy of your own life. Christmas was postponed as the skeletons in the closet lost their marrow, used to poison and scarecrow Jack Sparrow and I was having a wishing boner up my throat, eating all the chickens I could get - well I like a life on the edge as I pledge to use a sledge hammer as a monkey-wrench to kick out the stench of gloomy straight and serious notions what got no funny bone to gnaw on. If Christ was a sprout of us, He would proclaim thus and have it pattented in ToysRus while letting coffins shoot wines at Rus - Walrus was here to disgus the gushing sound of blood rushing into the lush garden as I sprayed my veins for the rush hour to implant my will to green thumbed crosshairs and reach out for the mush. Gentle feelings and obsessing on emotions are better off than sound and strict rules and engagement gaging and gagging in the babbling infringed spacement. The base I meant with this tension to spend a minute thought foreclosure beholding on the killing spree. Sprites and fairy bottles been sold by the bushle to bleach away all thought of afterlife or responce - virility more important than impotence of seeing importance to mind cause and effect connecting the dots to a port dance in ones glance. Let the thermite burn and reign in our souls; as we sip from our ill begotten inheritant bowls to thunderdome and await a Mad Max to Kill Bill all Hattory Hanzo swordplayers who lost their tracks. Fishbones to comb my hair, as some hairy close shaves gave me a hard scare, to let the drowned cat out of the bag and piggyback it in the catacombs and lost tombs of forsaken figure skaters, who tried to guzzle and bedazzle all salty tears what the sea of regret may upset and net into their sullen wombs. Knit picking the pockets of toetagged rugrats, who had a stag of Apogee in the paradigm to trade three quarter for a dime - parlez vous abstain? To profit for the meek, as our own hopes and needs are slain. Stain the thought train for naughty reek - entrails in haughty remains, as the masters of submission sub thumbs up for the ortodoxxed rabid foot in our mouth for the shame. Gross my thingers and Tony Blair to trial the sandwich with Mayonaise and reconnaissance to influence the essence of making no sence, burning all which idols and critiques as sculls cross the pikes and in the trench. Slapping some donkey heads to loose the hench hence tying the nice try into a bow or a fly what was compelling enough to partake a spelling bee and be misspelled and understood to stand down the ceiling, yielding some concrete evisacrated silver linings and biddings of Godspeedy gossamers tiding up the balcony while catchin up with the audience. The recovery revolted a resort of revolving madness and discorded ordeals to be recorded on the derbis of guidance into abundant color-blindness to mind-miss what the point hissed to kiss the iron maiden and see the devil in every bliss...