The Pay Toilet ( Is Out-of-Order)

 

the       won
               der
               ful                mastery         of this
                                                            belugeral         Ennui,
makes        fore-wording   the     be'lamed
                                                                    toss    of it's own
emptiness.    A  leery          portrait of an illustration
                                of a thing you could buy for
                           for the price
of a pay-toilet shit, (cup running over wit the pure joy of it all)

It's eminent posture spread throughout the spreadable world
    of principal, interest,  when the clocks at the Exchange
         vomit most violent(ly),
              as if thrust into an overheated morgue
                 where "they lay" in that way a
                     leaking corpses would lay (and)in'stink
                         on their way to the Promised Land
                              of yore.

Every word in this should be cut away when cutting out my way-
ward tongue.
(Every word is over-done),  as my child my child my child has been
                                           rend from "my life"
                             in the most horrific sense-of-time,
                                      of space, of heavenly grace,
                          in a box full dead dreams a dreamer may
                           have dreamed in going where they'd never
                                                      gone before.

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2019vvvvvvvvvvdkzkpooms/pxtrs&foulplays///2019