Torpedo's

poetry in a bong and its that easy for me. I'm starting to feel upbeat about the next results cause I have peppers in my pockets driving down Capital Reef with magick crystal resin on my fingers that God Almighty's little sexy secret agent woman just got through licking my lips until they gloss. The sunbelt before sundance driving this serpentine road through rocks of prehistoric crease. The smelly bud up my asshole to remind myself that the world is a bugger and needs to be bugged and then toppled from the top down. I smile at the new prospects of getting even along with lots of other contemporaneous insects. The sun goes down and then its time to put the shades to night flight how far is dirty devil. the odometer reads just a escond. if i only had a genii to experience this with me now. the moon and its sickle. the river, is going to be full of fish says the leaf, see, i knew, my prospects would get better with the dissolving works of summer and springs momentary punch and ideas that grab your pecker and the lights that go out and the need to be changed and the ever possibility of running everything under new rules made by Me.