Snakemind whimsey on a farmboy’s budget
Some people are KEY*.
We are eternity.
We are the sediment
that falls to the bottom where the real shit goes down.
Eternal dregs royalty without no crown.
Or we gas off, to go explore the expanse
Of all life and death
of infinite density or infinite breadth
Initial explosions and or entropic heat death
Most people stay in suspension.
Buffered by space and liquid erase.
Placeholders
Dwelling in beauty
or in wretched disgrace.
Playing at reality with velveeta snacks
plastic ford televisions and
bristling gun racks.
Until they expire.......
and plop,
back into the all.
Their finest legacy,
those trips to the mall.
Not to degrade or loathe their disease.
They’re just as important as us eternity-panzeeze.
They just can’t take it, while we beg for more.
Death of the ego,
and more
MOORE
and more.
They glisten, but won’t listen,
with hands over their ears.
While we absorb,
transport
and transform all of their fears.
*You can examine the key, but not live it’s role.
Reality and existence, swim, point and lap at the shoal.
Everything is nothing in a crazy glued key hole.
Welcome Home Mister_Niles. We've Been Waiting For You.
"Don't worry. When it happens, you won't be able to not let it do its thing. You won't have the ability to distinguish a pen from a hippopotamus"
- Art Van D'lay