The colour was blue
Well kinda blue for
A bathroom floor
Anyway

The ceai pas groaned
That it's graces were not
Enough
To overcome vices

So labelled them
Disadvantages

Just like a weaved basket
Bounces gently off the side
Of its carrier

Rest, recovery and
Just generally the things
That most people
Perceive they can never have

Are at that moment perfectly
Attainable

So why not always?

Will the gods come and live with
Us someday?

What would they say to use
Mere mortals?

I don't expect they'd be too focused
On what we had to say

And just get on with creating
Lasting change out of their
Spiritual powers.

Sometimes I believe I'm a goddess

And I write as such

Often with things that only
The gods would understand.

If influence is
Money

Then a retractable intuition
May parry
With the
Nots and knots

The office stations and tablet decoy
Regarding themselves
As renegade paedophilia
.the objective goal is
To turn us into unbeleivers

Whereas the subjective goal
Is force their own beliefs onto us

Poonanny, Amen God for the truth has been expressed authentically

Trying isn't always good enough
Certainly when the brains overcooked

Like a **** boil of
Germinated potatoes
Washed and lashed out
Into the *******

Spinelessness is apartage
Of the most indecent sliced bits
And wherein some might where an apron
And some gloves

But when the bitter cold of the guru
Capitulates it's heir to the golden loom
Nothing can be stolen

Poonanny I say to them
Amen Lord

Injunction for unnecessary
Stability
Prespiring beneath island sun

When will our day come?
When will our day come?

When the cornering of
The Caucasian
Is a rug of anomalies
(Metaphorically speaking)

And all microphones are
Megaphones
Tussling with that age old
Slave whistle

They took over the music industry
With enpasse
And Ruled the other side as much as
Underside
Without a true leader

To precure perfection
One must have had a life
Of preparation

And still then
One always doubts themselves

Like a flannel tossed to the side of
The bathroom.

There's is a disease like a nut shelling
Cracked and nutritious looking
But really useless.

And Battenburg cake won't help our descriptions
Of them,
Even if they're old.

Poonanny lord

Cloud 9
Disposing or my disposition
Can do it
Like a pair of marracers
Held by both their cheapest
And most expensive lovers
Following you around.

signed Amy Elizabeth Stares
Amen God

Preemptive askance the a(l(u)minationcrashed under deceived by craukflakes o'clock

An opportunity tunes into
You
If you relay information intuitively
And go with the the flow

Indecision will be common
But as long as you
Listen to your conscience
Occasionally

Then the rivers of
Fortune will flow.