Take your forty and a shovel and go to work and shut up. Doubt contains many details. Here now is the prismatic sonship.
Humming along with crystal singing bowls, eyes closed. Pin cushions buttress the faint of heart. A good movie is God's back door.
I won't be the first to say grace. Where is that letter again, the one from the treasurer? Oh to see the Nile a last time before Eden.
I'm not real interested. I'm never reaching in. Into nirvana, risking investment.
Day laborers see a long row one way, you see it another. Your train tracks are my Hank Williams. Folding chairs in the basement, the rank smell of standing water.
Drunk on wine that was opened last week. Into the garden go the grackles. The disciples didn't - don't - know shit.
Can I say that that way? How the anti-political sage beckons during interesting times?
No comments:
Post a Comment