Posed as a false-faced disgrace,
you set wasted time aside to glide in-stride
this mass disaster fantasy wax caster.
Molded in clay, the disfigured figurines display
hardened truths and cold-cut cringe.
Clatter-spoof spattered colored-crayon eyes,
eyeing the skies of lies, circumsized to size.
We overlooked the under-foot, he who took the rook.
Free flow the flip disk-switch to shift-twist olden myths.
Hot flash-grasp the past, lash its ass with gnash.
Hold steady friend, recall your fall back then
before you veered to stray for a follower's way....
a flower cut too soon before its' truest bloom.
Yet a dark descent to cold sin begins again.
The brashest grass covers your path with cash,
elusive tred-tracks passed by nature's math.
A steady machete sits heavy with westerly moss,
ever-ready to criss-cut 'cross this old boss-hoss.
But you let it lie, dirt-dulled to exist amongst the ants,
kicked to piss, flicked amiss, you resist this bliss.
Hoast no boast, youre close to toast, from coast to coast.
A blocked hostage of the gray ghost who comes with guns.
This swans song is sung, youve given up. youre done,
sounding sour sirens to admit that you have quit this trip.
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