(AppreCJ8n, 0.45: Untitled Shite O' Vita By A Rum'un For His Ceeta)
But all this death is not whatwistful womenwant,
it's femaleunfriendly as tauroctony lodges of yesterdeity mithras,
where postern would be shown ta shobijin of mothra's.
But i don't
think a time on earth is good enough for women and children,
and the passing of the wind of time is foe parp gasons're alltoo
historically immature for. Mem-
ories could neverdo forCee, You remind me yoo hoo
a bazillion things are okay, they're feminine, distaff of life.
Just what You do.
Remind me i'm in a few million things too, You do Cee,
coz life co-Cee'd is cozy
as a brazillian in a thong, okay!
Howl ever, hanging beowhisker this dogged moggerel exvoto
purrs completelybark-
ing tunes dissonant as a menu of goodbyes.
Choppy chompy gamut in the grinofmy grinninggrin of words...
But death ta poetry if it can't maintain,
ifproof a few million fumes of You. See, i fix
memories - ofmemostly so i don't maintain 'em. Memories'll givya a breakdown
ifya break 'em down. i want everything i've known
uptaYou changed, in Our constancy forgot. Allredolent
of the dryhumph of love-
lessness redundant
as a dunce decked in poo and moregeneral shite o' vita.
Memories toodestructivetaexist, fixed! Like before? Lice picked
mortal impishness of poesy ta aid violation o' timeless things,
so howcome this Rose and Zenith 'mongst experiences
- You Cee, andme hazhappening ta be - ah! Only ongoing, going on
howfor nowlong. How? Gone
i'm when so. o Babe, You're the best bits, hazey sprints
of a mortally limping life. Lives
are but lymphatic leylines, pootling particles of thoughtlessness and spawningpermits,
if a new feeling - like liking feelings – can hightailit, pawned by pasts,
inconsideration of vexyendinged, stupid old days.
But even the nopast master amnesia my last reformer
couldnot slay the portable paintings, slate remembrance
of redhot dawnswhen i forma
slobber on Yer bibless and scrumptious sialagogic
bubbiesthathavenurtured.
i'd remember living was with Cee-
jay, thatmemory's membership of the living wozin
Her snuggluptopus, that's an octopus snog not a cosy spot, frenzy
of seasoned shy touchesopen like unending tinjowarmer everything!
Couldn't livewithreliving Ourluvscene 'lessit's tactile as life,
aswildstyleraptureworthyvanillapervy, worldpeacefresh,
better than any memory of bodies, bodily memories
of any any, same way sunshine is better than summers
when we're longer creatures thanyoung.
Then i wentandspoilit allbywriting someflimsy cheesywhimsy like evengelic jeezie
- normal christ not one outta theda vinci's choad
- wou'ntmind these nails of loving by god!
Bytheby normal scratchcard god idon'tbuy.
Timeless thorns of me reserved for th' ages' wholegaze for ages,
was a hooking hole, a looking hole past mistook coz thepast is the
hole where the real goes, flummoxed memories of the instantual...
Hear me mostly, my pleas and, er,
cues.
You blessedly blocked this hole,
that 'ad led me ta 'kay abditive barricades
- with th'everyday understanding, touch.
Couldn't helpmyself too pierced by help.
Close, opine 'n' pen 'stead, pee'n ode ta posteriallupthewall,
fearposterity unvisted ando'no assist. She wozcoz Shedid
what Shewas. Ceejay fiddledwith thenogoodhinge on my hooded
camera of nose and claw and narcissist. Love me if i was.
Amasking askYou whatifsome disfigurement beckons
as all 'ell did when gawdgoing 'doh!' or Doh doing gawd
just added tadpolicies ta water