How Do You Defile an Angel When Mercy Is At Stake ?

 
Much      late
          for
asking.     Much
                   late
for           loving

      you.

Where        does
a lifetime go when it
            goes
            gone ?

and love
and love
and love        is
                forever in
                that state of
                  g o n e,
               that asking is
                 begging
               for one more
chance to "get it right".  So,
what do you think of when you think
              of your-self  ?

                O n c e
was a time a time when I could
               a n s w e r
them deep questions.  Now, I
            find Self to be
              mo'shallow
than a gutter pond. ( Can ye
            i'magine such
            a thing? )

Never never never never is
any-such-a-thing as tr'uth........but
plenty plenty wild interpretations.
So many so that I can't fathom
how
          upSet               my stomach
                                         is
amidst this cheap'ass five and dime
                  o'pining.
But
if I were you, I wouldn't trust the
                                                  pain
she walks upon in common,  
                     everyday             life.
The histrionics have no end.
                     No end in'sight.
                   No end in mind, No
                   end in heart/soul,
having tripped and fell in god's cosmic
                   well (of purgutorial tears).
Neither
of     us
will      ever be blind (but now eye see)
                                 enough to shake up
                                 the most baseless
                                     demon[s] til
                                    the inherent
                                     v e r t i g o
                             \ ~   Go'go vertigo ~ /
as would be gone and gone by any passing fancy,
                           knowing that any moment
my ass could wind up in so slippery a swing that eye'll
                           end up ending my days
                             in an overly parochial
                               pant-o-mime,
during which all my stats have been startlingly fat,
                              bulbous,   &  a tad sacred
                                as a loose appendage.

(and no, the mustache doesn't matter these days)

But don't take tight to such a priest'o'Dada. He knows what
               his freaking con'comittent habits do, but are
                  they on the level (or leveraged) to involve
                          a chart of weights, measures,
                              and the ever-present
                            rubber'ducky batshit glory.

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2020aug30dkzk/poompackage¬hin'else