Gibberish?
Call Forth the Ever pressing, information assessing across the edges and ledges of awareness. Know not the spot that came with this stain of the many folding windowpane. We watch through the glassy surface of shadows and shade, peering at the raid of panties and poppers. Coppers come quickly and seize the varmints. Garment's returned, and smiles given. The numbers exchanged and the lovelies are driven to remote little Tel's of the hole in the wall, 'cross talent and hunger that's simply appal to the high and born who so scorn, with bells hung hither and dither cross knobs on the door, ringing a chime in rhythmic response to the thump of the floor. Lifting and shifting in panic and pleasure, rolling with humps and bumps of the boards, then hours on later, a cry and a smoke of wispy intent. Their breathing is raspy their tired and spent, Cigs lit satisfied and wholly bent on smiling of the many and few. Lets not be picky on who we knew. Let's choose for the moments, and live for the glory. Other way 'round, ya simplistic ill…sorry…got carried away with the moment and time…Lets see more of this little silly Rhyme.
Shall we?
Gibberish you say? Rubbish of sellable shit says you? Nothing so blatant or gullible indeed… Quite sorry dear sir or Madame of sir. Indeed 'twas a blur to the motion in notion, this potion of love and lingering sagacity. The fool is the wiser, yet the wiser is the fool. Love is the leader of hate in the second, the beckoned is reckoned to be little or nothing more then a bore of the Heart and shitty to the core. What me? Oh no Never the audacity of the young and the new.
Oh lords of the Temptress honour thy name. Shadows and death have come to claim the succulent soul they crave to the last. Ember held peaceful within the time glass.
We know not what is said here today, we know little of what is said to sway the mind of its thoughts on the pots that be brewing and chewing of letters that are simply stewing of erotic neurotic love notes and ill quotes, to the heart and the soul. It's taken its toll, to the man of the hour. For nothing is gained by knowledge and power. What's this you ask? 'Tis nothing to bask in the glory of others. Just trying and buying up land and the chatter. What's wrong dear sir is something the matter?
Of course not.
You think me insane? Of course not dear Coffee-pot it's simply a touch of the nerves and the swerves of the crutch of life. Of pain and sorrow of unbearable strife. Its hard to spot the known and cruel, this duel is 'bout done, the man is near gone. He's a sucker and twit and a likely chess pawn, to the noble and high born that scorn the…wait… we're going in circles, lets wipe the clean slate... or other way around…Confusing no? Lets see to the hound, in the kennel not far. Do you know who I am? Do you know who you are?
I guessed as much.
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