Secret prayers skirt the dream
and direct anew a kindred unborn, because light
is measurable immensely.
Fragments of splattered grease only mean
that the penetration was sloppily attempted.
You're a broken bicycle chain
to a mechanically inclined hippie
with no tools.
Even if I were attempting to be
I'd be grit to your cogs.
Fore the forlorned twere
the utmost mostest of the desperate desperates.
A struggles fight just might bite
a hole in the clouds,
tearing a hole in the schismatic idea of Jesus.
Why is your orgasmic euphoria a euphemism
for tightly tubed toothpaste
that I expectedly and only desire
to expectorate down a drain
because a swirling drain is the specific depiction
that allows you to specifically draw my efforts from me.
With my cryingly or recidivist odious crippled humor
dill and cucumbers
do not make a pickle.