Ball fist, if wishes could talk, One would place their chips down; If life were a play, or odd film, Kings would admit our wrongs, But it's not. Wishing could be in your head, Talking all things that god is, Appending the self at the end, Thinking itself less important, But it's not.
To hurt him, like ordinance, Without pair, like oranges, I know the judge, stole from her, And I showed the world, Like porcelain, life and purpose. Too curt of whim, by your judgement, Like my origins, like ordinance, I simply shoot from the hip.
And what is knowledge, Seeking cage or collar, Blue, An ocean fathered, Or Purple, red and other; Purple, being safe, Circle, being safe, Purple screaming veins, Journal speaks of rage. Press candles, pages, Stress handled in stages.
Bindle stiff of simple things, Fake brickwork buildings, Frugal beginning. Mind filled with bitterness, Still feeling ideas stone: Life constatant, slowly. Hands in gauze and clovers, One makes a river of oceans, A farm of forests, dogs of horses. Yet smashes up against the stone, Dark and lonely, eyes gloss over.