He still loved the crushing darkness
Despite what he said about the light
After he got out of the hospital
Police work
Seemed no longer right
At least not for him
In his half butchered
And tortured state
He'd always been darkly comic
And loved a good debate
So he tried his hand at comedy
Though big laughs
He seemed to lack
There was always
One big ******
******* his trousers
In the back.

Much will be wiped away
The rest will be all altered
He said it
Mona Lisa eyed
The only sign of faulter
Your home and chattels
Now belong to us
And of course
Your kinder too
You need our codes
To eat and breath
So what you gonna do?
He didn't say that last part
Though he really wanted to
Pushing forward
To perceived perfection
A techno-Buddhist
Stew.

Every friend when meets,
Seems an angel sent to us,
By the god from his providence,
But when departs after fulfilling,
His ends  selfish  and cunning,
All incidents of past moving.
In sky of our inner gloomy world,
Making us  cry and buzzing sad,
Echo of pain within ending world.

There's 96 bags of **** the moon
Or at least that's what I have heard
Among other detritus
Scattered around
We gifted the universe
Some turds.

The world with all its peaks
And canyons
From highest point
To lowest trough
Suits them that seek
Reckless abandon
And those
That  just can't get enough

If our planet
Got shrunk
To cue ball size
I mean really shrink
That sucker
It may well you surprise
Earth would be smoother
Than that ******.

Come one
Come all
And gather round
Let us sit upon the ground
In the dawning day
As the warmth accrues
The birds awake
To this paragraph new
And the badgers slumber
Beneath the clay
Human progress
Not delayed
The horizon suffused
Orange and pink
To be alive
But not to think
The rising sun
Sings it song aloud
Oh look!
There is a mushroom cloud.