Within the system of regularis and danse. There where the cold drawn width of a North wind tresses in gaits along the collar of an idle swept floor. The common names on fieldgrass make out a motley collection of jackstraws and the accompanying crossbound shadow of cloud cover in an ecocentric talisman of spinning story. Hot to cold. Top to bottom.

Insisting there must be some redemption in release. The quietude of half spent hours. Momentarily quivals with serendipity. An almost abstruse condition of fealty in the mirthful premonition of a taste for tailors and maids. The rye and sundry,  the panate type of house mice. The lour of the native garb. An intrinsic plea for clemency under the ice tides of a skyward borne fantasy.

Fourth estate typecast sunny side project blues song. A viable couching of fears illigitimate. Emigre of heady distaffs and capitulation reasonable or not. The maven of all good seeking primates. She tends to garner her resorts from the flaxen and brogue mare. A light constraint consigned to parlor trap and jazz licks of the new second line. There in the gardens of the gentle lands. A noontime cresting of the diurnal cycle. Reminded by Sudland distances into night and its music. The roping of lightfall in the bracken shade of merry roving lamps.

Another day wakes ride. The dew sotty grass almost frosted with sitting wait on the new song. A furtive notion in the concerted vastness of stride. The leathernecking of canvases and green grasses with rice paper printable smittys’. The hanging of lyers at regards fending off the lumbering trespass of the red tape leer. A lie, a saught after despair. Being taught disheartened to fear knowing. An apprehensive state of parroted monkey witch. The ludicris trappings of the suicidal kudoos. Discordant a sound of making short step pitiance out of one’s brood.

Timeless really in that its victims are not taught when to die. Being instead and through subterfuge given to greed and envy after the fate of the foreshadowed beast. An innocent going down with the tide. A far cry from the consumate chaos of indulgent sinners. All gladly prizing the gluttony of doing away with the earthly estate. Being forced to go without resource or sustinence. Especially in the guise of those upholding her sphere’s very standards.

Our fair sovereign in the proper reckoning of the univer and the salty sea of that great reaching eternity. So many close knit watches of a superlative and highly Swiss disposition. The gab and gander of profligate feet. Not lost to the quarry of head games and being told to drown in so much incredulous cheddar. Again the trappings of a very vocal kind of bewitching. That damned way a horror makes laughter out of a stupid thing and such unwitting need for trust. Fit for nothing but the slavery of the lazy, feral, and ashamed.

A most certain kind of medicine wheel drunkenness. The narcissistic phenomenon to be exact. And my own ridiculous distinction at having found that I am over it. Life! Let it ring why don’t you. Let it always brave the passion of a well rounded commitment to its best revolutionary completion. Having the love and desire to care and care well for both its beginnings, being given a place and optimism for birth, as well as its endings, those things concerning fate and even karma if you will.

To me this speaks of the great work. The friendliness and compassion necessary to make good on being of service to others. Gracious to all. Of either high or low estate and rather relying on a God in heaven to gain that reward that one may objectify in the gleanings of ambition from the dreams and wishes for a better sense of familial and personal prosperity.

Serve the masses and believe that it is a God whom will bring us our just reward. For it is a many and varied thing that resides in the guise of a humane manner of being. Yes it is this thing simply to be known as passion that brings its light to those involved in the rounds of service when considering its upkeep. When honoring its pride. And in the light of its praises all for peoples and spirits, flora and fauna, water and stone.

To realize superceded in the contemporary dalliances of its hetero arts there conceives the wrest of the ages. A turning lemnescate of the eternal rosy snake of a weal and the caparisoning slakes of those idalyc exegesis straits. Coming to terms of origination and forbearing. No swat club for impromptu madness. No septic gloom for trespass to bar the ordinary its entry into our otherwise normal lives.

No this is a state of sovereign Earth and while our God remains in heaven so our loyalty to this sphere’s upkeep will continue to be judged and diagnosed and simply observed for that continuation of immortality they call a revolutionary cycle. And both regularity and knowing a good ride will sometimes feat the lands with heroics and bravadura’s lead toward honesty of love and compassion

But do not be given over to so much as idle want. For this want is no such impartiality in the sympathetic and thus staid manner in effects of a way we let on that what is essentially always in its first rite is a call to rest. To twist this around and make it out to plaint would be like saying “Well you know that old devil. What a shame he does not have more worshippers. Oh hell yeah! Yuck yuck😆.”