Saturday, July 18, 2015

Forget the right things

And a collection of villages going back centuries springs forth in the will

And at first when you're 12 and the singers are artifacts babbling their surplus of sadhappy fiction  later   it all becomes  cap in his ass   cap in  his ass    sacred wicked baptist hero love  you so   like the nearly almost too slow love of      a redeemed sinner with gangster proclivities and  can chant anything into peak spells

with a joy that cuts so deep it's qualitatively different than pleasure

quit playin / don't  interrupt   me    

I want  us to have new conversations  with Kings

Fennel Bitter
tea tree oil
mixed in walnut oil

nah like potion  but not rubbed in to the grown in feet  of any dancer     either    we  remembering