@k copelin,
Indie end implode ya,
Mine’d the pills of the dopa,
Bazooka unloadin’,
Got my locust killin’ to drove ya,
Nintendo-un-code ya,
When I Konami unfold ya,
Locus your controller,
One-ten-year-old scroller,
Indiana bolder I’ll unroll ya,
Ya Jonesin’ a door that won’t open,
Windows enclose ya,
Even ceilings become omens;
Witnessin’ those Jehovyas,
Won’t even let ya come over,
So I’m not even playin a red-rover part or starting to force the city gate open,
Hope in bronze sculpture’ cologne your lost-wax tracks chrysobullos logos,
Embolden your bones in my nose like coughee mocha-roasts aromas ,
Mas ponchos mas Sombreros so bear all those comatoses,
Cuz ghosts don’t chokes with no cloaks they temple dooms like fumes and
Amuse my mind I’m outta my mind but won’t go away like a pyrotechnic ricochet,
A boomerang of encyclopedic cryptic display on words, an eccentricity childish hypnotist,
Ahhh ****, now I am feeling cryptictictictic….like a hydroponic orchid eclectically morbid anesthetic portal, I’ve been electrically charged but I just I won’t become a regular mortal, I’ve been injected with infections and I’m spreadin' it on thick like your heaven is falling brick by brick by brickickick, that’s the structure of the metaphor that you just won’t ever getetet…..LOL!