fuck fondler
fuck being old
and fragile
and feeling like dog shit
remember when there was time
that wasn't all hands and clocks and hands
all the hands, man, wicked.
fo' sure.
and stuff.
wow.
that's what I'm talking about.
it's amazing how little is said in so many words spoken over and over and over and over.
but we all move on like tank treads are farts.
with rumblings and grumblings and uncommon knowledge
we all move on.
and that's what strikes us as beauty.
every day and every scene.
I don't know. the latter day saints of the serene possibility might make me see a double 'i'
but who knows who I'm speaking to and why!
whoa rhyming, scheming, and undermining!
this is crazy talk, unwinding! (does this need a superscript with a tm attached?)
truly, truly, truly.
who could tell
but who could hatch?
for serious, if you could ever bottle the human psyche
and the human tongue
and the human emotion
up and up with a bow
you'd probably be some expert that says this and that
and that and this
whispers of Frost and demotions of Hughes!
rare influences find us at fodder
who could we be, who could coddle?
it could be a, b, a, b, a, b, a, b, a, b.
all night
but wouldn't that be a bore?
evr' tolerant?
or maybe Mighty Frost
and Mighty sunder.
Might find a deliberate
way to cuddle
or perhaps Mighty Hughes
will become the Decider
that Frost was a fuck, a Who's Who!
A huge, huge, huge, huge, massive of a fondler?!?