doing time in a cold world dressed in hot water

doing time in a cold world

dressed in hot water

swimming in a pool of acid

running through a placid field of grasses

it is I who looks at the image in the broken mirrored tentacles

if not for the reason I have always counted my tantalizing maniacal mental tricycles

floating upstream meaning I wade through the blood of Englishmen

which is only the golden light illuminating all fright

that nothing really is confusing

instead many things are so amusing

it’s just how one looks at it

that gives that thing its thinness or thickness.

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