The Blue

Littered, bittered cold, fuck, it’s dead out here.

Seer in the unclear, lightning is breaking

our golden rule, so there’s a

little fear. All of this and it still merely

sings lullabies to the inner Milly T.

Breaks the void, via bad shoulder

strap, are we back on the

road yet? Ascending clues

to the code, live reading the patterns

seeded inside of cycles, and they won’t

call it a rectangular wilderness?

Who keeps saying we invented

uniqueness? Sorry, there’s some program thing...

Is what ready?

I need more than a name

to call it. Be easy? That mode is

locked; no pay wall, or difficulty

stall, stop asking.

Although I say that in black, let the

pattern slam the psyche when

the keyhole started sporting Morse

code. I’m the twist if you

can see through; the questions to the

nearest walls. Calls to fire and how,

quick thinking, this will stop the

forever sinking. Back to playing along,

praising the cave Fancy Pants, hmm,

that last one would go well with

this tattoo. Blends with the garden theme.

Half flooded streams, but I digress…  

Nasty way to go; you don’t get a vote!

I’m the mote of my own castle; I don’t know

How I built it. Shielded in auto

guts, the pilot is set, all to riot at the mall

at flying of the violet flare. You won't believe it...  

Voted for what?

This, aforementioned kneading

of the brain to mush, the crunch will

crumble out of the ears as 4D liquid that

is failing its coolant duties.

Moody, aren’t we?

We’ll see you when I was ever here…to miss.