The Spirit of the time,
I bust my guts to be the rest and head the slightest silence
In the places where I called nothingness.
The wasteless.
Bear the sweet,
Because it hands me the stale and the bitter but even that grows, from the fungus
Corn grows, off shoots a light and deep latent in these arms.
Fungus disperses seeds disperses me and you
Even in the the dryiest moment
You can be dirty with sweat and
Rise about the ground while wishing you where still buried in the furrows of
Your mothers fro.
The cycles of her boob and the jaws that made her eyes
Blink.
If you recycled me would I fall far beyond it,
Would I reincarnate and state death the whistle to shine pon tha glory.
What is this sun
Can you not see how if blinds us
The laqueres of this city are melancholic
Like yellows
And misused.
Peacefully you stare at me a bat rapes my armpit with tha wind and
This day will never be
Done
My happiest brings sadder the fire and
Then I stand
Stand
But
Linger
Not too long
I back drop.
I eat my brothers corn
Dear is the night I love thee,
For thee
Insidely
I
Can
Walk,
You flock by the counterance, so temperately, billows out from you the singing of the furrows that kist your,
you plain
thanks
this giving
part is part way off
pace from the dark
I run.
