Dew of decay as nature meant you to live. With your vertebrae held horizontal from east to west. A reality more real than a reality. I'm in the prime of my senility. As long as there is death. What we want of life is bliss everlasting. Caressing on all fours. The bellies of your loved ones with edibles. Notoriously uninformed beasts living on an idiot’s plateau of mentality. To our unknown ends. With marble stones and crosses.

Fanatics of abulia. A flag that deliberately dangles in a brinish audient hostility to all humanity. Until the day our brain catches fire inside the tantalizing cavity. For the trifle camaraderie of heaven. With the plan in action twisted by fanatics of abulia. The chair or bed is a boat. Radiation the rocketship. The night still fears touching the pupil. The silk threads of the darkness. Becoming undeniably papery you shall squat on the floor alone. Waiting with your migratory. Warbling for a carousel of forbidden gravity to kill you. Painting the ruptured areas of the brain with cursing sun shadows. Praying repeatedly for some barbed wire scatologists. Intelligenti Satan. Converted to cash and now the machines of the devil drool. You reach for the bell you have glimpsed on your deathbed. For solace and for hope of arrival.

Pretty smiles creating competition for the grave. For all the condolences one might wish for an exploding skull. This is no celebration of sorrow. But this is social evolution. A graveyard full of doppelgängers. A compass for stone age men-dog-oxsie-poo. Trampling on nature’s dignified playing field. With fickle trackers that keep things straight. Well let them make it worse and not just make-up on a death mask. Spiritual homesickness in their sixtieth impression from pounding during the mass production. Ritualized for processing hallucinations scrambled through your brain. Pretty smiles creating competition for the grave.