The All too True Change of Marker

Praise New Hours,

a ticking clock to the foreign loss

  and familiar social pressure on a

21st century turn.

Broken and fixed

broken and fixed,

upon repeated more beats and thoughts

and proof of provocation of those of

the past idiocratic splendor.

Fortunes feedback

undue splendor placed on

self fear, hatred

and robbery.

Cast all such portrait demons 

to an all masters hell.

Say in the name of the father

son and ghost.

Free minds

peaceful charged,

and true power 

striking reigns.

I steer my pride,

I hurdle such thoughts,

laugh at such sites of those undropped splendor

catching mason and craft.

See my talents psychological draft and draw.

Such for lust

and delivery

for souls mat

and cut drive.

Charge, charge,

and charge some more.

Watch in awe in strike

and power do beg,

do end,

do but draw based

on all forted fruition.

No master late on its drawing baited charge.

and as such martyred peaceful to its so called

bitter end.

Yet no,

no pressure built in the provoked dark heat and obtuse

sexual tension

slight off hint light of shuffle,

always brought on by some judgement, some danish lack of

timing.

What lacking?

What struggle?

What is this so long entrance of an exit?

Boistered maintenance set on the told stories

of the with drawn world of the all true

contrived nature of a man’s word or attempt

of strong bronze thought 

and singing pathos on corner stone of

another contrived building on its foreign evered

mountain.

Do mountains not erode?

Do winds not blow?

Do waters not draw?

Who is such that they resist these beautiful tides?

Is it true my friend?

The days of the self inclined fascist died with the very

men and days themselves.

 Make a point

not to bored the change of marker.

The everted assembly of the now too true,

non essential of ending

as it is, an as it was.

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