The Spirit of the time

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.