P. Periscope Volunteers

Slope fur in the retrofit cursed inhabitant, muselix gang,
Demerol fantasy fords with giant engine head blocks,
Easter Island agog in the rampage of mosquito net, beaucoup
In the fabric of multitude, loaves and hessians.

Nary a fine has been imbued with the rash judgement of
Harlequins and jesters dancing on the white coals
Of dream thrombosis, of the diseased sleep of the
Well kept night mare apostles creed of the soul....

Unhinged from time, the checks and slays of an errant
Second hand merciless like the scythe cutting rice
In the bayou heart made chemically clean for the
Spot lights of babylonian alchemical blackface.

Slope fur detroit in the autobahn of the milkyway
The rabid striations all up and down the walls
Antarctic melancholy barely half described,
I imagined the hundred foot wall of ice....

And that was enough,
To let it loose.
imposter Peering out of the cabin deep beneath the waves, looking out into the storm-tossed sea to find out if it's safe to surface.

"Oh, fuck it -- blow the main ballasts."


No regrets, and I never looked back.
what's it to you?
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