Two industrial worlds

Two industrial worlds working
Free net
Excuse my woe
Right as bread whence entropy
Scarred with gems like man tears
Passing for the archive deal
Arrests us
Death love facing salt peace
Sees a crown
Yet follows promised sense affair
The pistol finger don't die

Dear I
Resist the way of victory
This cavern of subject bubbles remains
Seeking gaps is not nice

What is the inspiration hold?
It brings a father's chastity home by
Speaking fast of prodigal hearts
In distant beds
Beside brothers with wandering hands
Kept sober in the light of noon defeat

Love has concentrated layers
After being dusky-eyed with artist mustard
New fruit covers the lips and paws
Each foot promises to shout the other's name
The petit-nez extends in wild places
From impossible roots to mysterious ends
Less motionless in intimate venues
Having whiffed last rushes it plugs the woozy
And services the rains

Given that all births are started on hillsides
Our hearts avoid questions prescribed by content
Growing our nails in dreams
That lament the next hill
That compare skins broken
From old attractions hands
And in pictures see amours
Of mingling ends

Noble soldiers like lost fish
Are prized in the gladdened air
Of constant obligation

If behind the rage is
Dreaming barren
Clean the house
It's making chains of
Sweetened fear
To bite the people
On the level shining floor
They wall their suspicions
In a prayer to solicit ills
Establish fitness tidy lot
With professional recoil shock
Lay gaslight paper passengers
On story walls
So weeks can renew without respect
The ugly trade of pity

When you speak I don't hear what you say, I hear the wheel that's spinning the words, and wonder why you don't, if you don't. I won't voice my own (we're not so different you see) What's the point?

All the mud of the world has leaked away. Step away from yourself. Unlock the door. Vast engines of warmth roll out and wrap you in colours. The veins of darkness are coursing life refuted dance and reaching wills then freeze. Into brackets. What shape is a healthy mind?

My only note is a too ting ROAR!

Blessed be pain. Hurt in peace. Must remember to buy some sausages. Why you interested anyway? I'm no-one, nowhere. Just trying to record a fiction that's grotesque enough to alter the one that's left us here.

I'll give you the Jackson Pollocks. They're always the new thing. As much as I hate to see them cry. I'll leave them cat food. They'll cry. It's funny how we care, we don't care. How! We don't bite, won't bite, because we're new here, and this may be the only chance, something we all need. They're not paying attention! Reel them into the honeypot. We can neither reign the running horse nor feed it grain until we've nothing more to gain from suffering.

I'm, you know, making a big mistake. I'll get totally lost in the time of it, and you know what's really stupid is that even when your face stop movin' you're still there.

So God is invoked, to quell the fluidity that is the mind's birthright. Our elders told us so. They're going to argue an eternity to keep from moving on. The power lines they're hungry for will never change. They've doomed themselves; wallowing in luxury engendered by their acquiescence to authority. It's all a part of the game. I'm not so very HARMLESS. There's always got to be a time when you start to get a sense of what you're doing. So our current leaders; are they as ruthless as their forebears? We wouldn't know. They've yet to be tested. That is democracy. It's why my words conjure the collapse of means in search of the cipher to stop the bleeding. When the poor are gone what will the rich have left to feast upon?

Fighting our adversaries with the weapons of our own destruction. Who lives in fear? Because Smith isn't here?

As time drops petals to the ocean, I have worlds to put right. I am free to tug against restraints, but which way I pull offers scant respite, I'm still torn apart. If I have one wish, it is to be like my father; to squeeze myself into the barrel of a gun, and dangle. I light the one torch. I love the one light. I bruise in the eyes of fate, in jet streams whitened by torque. But if there's anything left when I'm done, please let it be my brain. I'll be needing that for plucking woorms from out the jam jars of life.