Priscella's aberration

Priscella's aberration, the fantasy male, a gender-tripper.

Slanting and slandering, poisoned yeses and knows on a hay bulls-eye,
it ripples in the grey field, furry magic-maker flinging an ace,
valued above others,
a tasting encasing a dry mouth of ghostliest.

place an olive growth and name it,
i dent it,
tea brews entering as steam in a memory atonality,
small red cells expanding, dilated bright waves depositing bits of bone.
shuffling along, soaking pant-legged history, drying up grass blades.

riding along, hair windy, particle inheritor,  recipient of dust clouds.

the ego

crippled souls of Heracles biting at the ankles 
of sanded wooden grains, ingrained topped-off visionaries
pulling, tugging vastly there in star fields as if ant hills
owned cities in hearts of purple, our tasseled caps.
grown with magic opined bloodied servants
the wine cask sits openly, begging.

complained refrains, seven added bells
ringing ears, waxed variants summed up with a tab
as if
your hold in a ship on calm, watered piles
delicate backings, it's moist
billowing up, pillows of fur
the ego 

two minutes

bubbled milk and three fingers tapping on the knee
shadows of one translucent thread, locked in concrete
it's the sun, son ... two minutes from now, less if you're lucky
past pastures of imagined shit, future-fucking mind tricks
STOP
is there a rock there in October? it's a month created, time keeper bullshit
looping looping looping candy lands

wind walker

liquorice lacquered, nimbly host, advancing ghost to be.  skipping withered form, insectional visionary, poster child of light.

take another vessel, some star-shaped beast, or leafing swaying wind walker.