patamystic poems and writing

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there is none but the many no where but the now this is the way to the stars if you climb the stares to find them the matter of the matter is in is a state of flux not in a mill one of these days you’re gonna get you’re due drops lightly over a setting son relocated across the boulevard waiting to be paid to be paid who shall claim the accession ? none but the children the frank the daring to live as if to halve it that the morning of what day cease what you will steal the package it contains a message not secreted delivered only now how when you can’t see it why is that you ask why it is as it is ? no more to pass through these gaits on the road to a wholly house aha you invoke the fumes for sake the sacred bowels bowls it what it seeps out and through walls electrified brazenness the insane do not speak they prophylactically exhume the dead souls that carry will our hearts exorcise against our will the silver the gold of tongue the fuselage of hour dreams it if it may not come to fruition approximations not uttered muttered shrikes across your forehead an agony splendid throughout the land’s horizons are askew ask you the weak wander by the watering pacing sipping circling slowly what is that which is that the source of all pain ? accept that this knot too shall ever cease to not amaze with standing the fleet which sinks deep jowls jeep dowels look over the bay wards fall as weeds rain true as it it seeps into your eyes the blood never dies dries do we reek ? may it all be in your brain now is the time is the dancing is the plunder we sing out the answers have created us in the gorilla midst beings drunk with fervor handsome will always wonder where the food has been devouring it in it’s hole heartedly the meadows the mined howl your name over over significant wallows pleasure screams hope pockets of dope why just why just why ? majesty delivers no promise your bedside only the stream concede the fiends to their prisons where stumbling blocks live the monthly flood is not your burden it is your joy your onus anus you’re great work you’re true vision in it’s vilest purest form will oh sleep on the path take them wake them now miss the blossoms drink the fruit never steal the eyes be hooved they may be they will always induce your panic if you have not gleaned meaning from stones is there no humor in your graves why have you not remembered the weariness of descent ? harmonious this content bears you up well in the wake the cotton mouth viper vain is a mad dog veering off veering under veering away from shallow rivers to bed weep not for it is I who have called you hear weep never for it is I who with callused hands weep not weep no more thy tears have singed the read curtains drape the casket gloriously the time is now now the wisdom yours ours we shall never in ‘twain meet in this world in your thrown have ashes I of sat in your arms I of whispered to the muses I must be left alone I must not enter the realm ewe will not know me thus spake the sparrow thus it must be so this is the last weary eye I sneak past you in your clamor for comfort it is I who must betray it is I who have heard your pain it is I who holds you down it is I who heeds your soul it is I the sparrow the oleander may creep over your shoulder do not fear it dandelion ferocious and yours sweet smelling pines stand tall where once they walked no it is not meant to be forgotten will it away if you must it shall always appear it three paces behind hallow me but do not follow you’re faith shall burn it’s offering once moored never look never seek if at first you don’t wish to dream bleeding I leave you spewing they confused us it must ever be so

patamystic poems and writing
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