mutation media- principle, has not found Christ

Remembered because the work was intricate
Last night I watched a televised program of thoughtful work.
Dependant upon the insurrection of a thousand worries
Maintained over night fall, I honestly don’t mind.

Its the kind of creature that you blissfully marry yourself to
In a romantic kind of gesture that you think should get clueless.

Prominent developments of the sleeping space; no right is wrong, no matter is far off base.
The quick words are calm at the taste,
Insinuations of repeated boredom
Throwing everything off like candle wax at midnight’s simmer
Everything has a circumstance and eyes of princes elucidate the percent fact
So crisp discoveries could be made in the foreword motion of greetings,
Asking of motion depicted in the subtle ground.

This is where I throw everything off because I’ve not found Christ
My hobby is to affirm slow silences with expressive percussion.
I often would rather dream my sentences into Saturn than face a boiling pot of water
Then I emerge with flow as the first choice pushes me on.
That is, after all, what I expect of you
Perform my second guess work with the frustration of a mule.
Rest returns to forgiven matrixes while a run on is mixed.
That is not so often the context of social anxiety,
Neediness is not something relative to thoughtfulness.

Assumptions go on, images start fresh.
Ive related my churning bowl to the quick desire of aspiration in the wet, poisonous hodgepodge,
The art of cleaning up.
Its now time to start that fire
There was once spaghetti here.


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