Strolling The Villages and The Shops, of Our Very Own Versions of Insanity

Sanction dropped before the fifth,

wholesome beasts silk ties and

violent fists, gently adjust the storm

of constriction, subtly strangulating

about the neck

and a few shark fins later, along

came a paisley parrot with a welsh

design, speaking slurred and lewd

vocabularies

Then to the painting that caught your eye,

Literally, some batty estrogen depraved one-time

Beauty queens, plucked it with a watermelon scoop,

And tossed it about as each took turns to stir their

Soup…I think it was lentil, but I can’t quite tell, for

My nose was plugged damn tight, probably a result

Of all the smog I breathe in day and night

But it seems the reflections were all but dirtied splotches

Dried to spider-webbed glass, and so they through my

Orb back to me, and along with a half-filled bottle of visine, they said go ahead, put it back…and somehow,

That’s exactly what I did

In continuing this stroll, the things I saw, kind of

Wish I forced those hags to keep hold my sight in their arms, cradling it till the break of dawn, then casting a party, with grog and spoils, where we’d all sit around and tell stories over soup, sticking around until the Moyle pulls the snippers from his kit, and said, “lets all play a game…”

 

And dominion falls for once and all, damning the air with it’s subtle unsettling sense of foul…and pilgrimages never will seem the same…

As from this point forward, I do, I must have to say, a day’s much longer when you stay awake, and the minutes drag when your in distress this great, but hey, whatcha know, there’s merit in leaving untold whispers by the broken homes of emancipated brats raised by themselves to live that way, anyhow, that’s a pearl I took to heart, minutes after this whole sojourn was impelled to start

Seconds before the brownstone could open it’s arms and wrap their familiar paws upon me there, a salve, a beacon of dissection stuttered down the concrete, he would’ve got to me, he probably should have, but lifting one’s leg at every tree, truly revises one’s definition of a dogged day,

But as my door was sealing shut, his voice was spurting through the sky, where words would mumble, jumble echo high, and I there heard him say, “ all we really need, is something warm to keep us safe, all we really need is a warm place to stay the night…” and then I swore I heard him crying…to which I’m always a sucker for…

So I opened up the door and offered him my couch, to which he spoke swift and fast, “thank you, thank you, thank you much…this’ll hurt me more than it’ll hurt you, this I’m most certain of…”