Hanging out

I was hanging out my boyscout boy-coyd shouts
to astound about the mount of cotton fiber in a trout.
The rites there reserved to a referred intern unheard
binging at the hinges of St. Shacklebolt Kingsley,
who believed in Cum-Ra and flimsy root directions.
I toried to the next flap-jack inside the gory folklore
of a hangmans worry. The wart was cut off and hugged.


I mugged myself some coffee, to tree-spirit Nirvana;
of coming Baja to commune with the mule in Biblical time.
The clock was punched with corporal punishment;
while being glutton for verbal obtuse, as my gums there flapping,
like an albatross dipped in oil... I had to strap myself to work out.
It was disengaged and fault-lined into some other crappy toy-string!
Fuck the system of a downplayed Jack-O-Lantern thinking...


Hes/hers Dick in the Dox to Iggory Diggory around the block --
new fleets efreeting around the mock battle of broken luck.
I have to sound so sane as I silently relent to be wearing a lions mane;
what was instead my look du pillow, as my ass woke up at 3
and nobody even did the count to call me into the ring to belt me...
I sculldugger a shy plyable comply to shagger all your safe spaces
into the fine neet Stacies feeling like He-man to say "Yes she's Stan"


The glory hole was blackballed to be renamed to a fawn;
all hairpins jumped over the devils tower and wall being lovers
with harpies and behemoths. I was pulled from my hair
and guided by my nostrils as bullshit janked my bricks...
I had so much to say, but ado was on denial and replay.
For this to enter even the stage of a coupe de grace etats units slay
I prayd to the piper and crossed the path of a black cat with a crowbars spithay!