Battlefield BreakDown
Cellular magnetic lock-down. ten. back to it in-out. cycles of confinement. orange striped power trips. price is right? bob barker designed power suits. confined spaces. hope in dream time forced nappy. but above stars drawn on cement skies. window breathes icy air freedom past locked in barb wires. transportation. desires. wash cycles tonight She sees a Light Flying drone in drought height Guard - set me free Bathe me in defined love Blinded by night an interdimensional jumper blinded by firefly's lost light reincarnated sold self. price not right. rewritten lyrical karmatic khaos. Burning Bright All Night Shades made with Glue Paper on Air Flow Guilty Until Proven Innocent Will to Survive Running to center of storms, don't catch that reversal, eastern edge low--high pressure, storm beats tell me where should I lay my head, in a lost rhythmic beat bring me back headphone poisoned dreams, bring me back to a time long ago Sheep. Lion. Wolves. Where will the sun go. Pink skies beat broken backs Dragons Tongue, Words --- Stop. In The River We Found Our Way. Temporal overloads. Prayers in a digital Revival Some temporary words, watered down temples Only ink needs lost in you stained. Could a mind be a target? driven towards daisy fields of madness turned towards light and hope and still yearning for inner/outer spinors stuck. space__. None would desire such paramagnetic psuedo scorpion legions of whys. I search no more for WhY. I settle at Future Forgiveness my merciful forgeting So how. No why. Idea drew a love. the love saw a see-saw so it sees me. or so. i thought i think. Then it distorted, defracted, super-imposing. simulacra, re-creation and in unstable sea-legs, logs. divide dream-lucid-sleep. over analyzed, watched, discussed stirred, pot watched never boils. but, alas, wait. worse yet, Denied. Ritual shame games. Mixed with strange test lines. Intel. Agents of Artistic Providence. Lost lines in thinly veiled, robes on thrones. prophets cry. From the river of Jordan To the streets of the home of bread babies born, waters cries. Prayer brings us back, and the trumpet called cheek turned, i turn - dizzy was that you? did you call? Or another lost sign, on a subway bathroom stall wet tongue some other mans dream, not mine? did we share a timespaceplace forsaken, betrayed, but betrothed to whom? Where bridegroom builds palaces of interior revisions. Editors NightTerror. Harlot. Mother. Warrior. 3000 pages unsealed. Massive weight of stacks. math check.
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December 2024
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