Dyspraxia

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Sick
The foolish grout
Eaten by wormholes and guided by all
Festering in deep grounds
Filled to the tomb with mold

Hand-laden brick
Toasted to the slighted twitch
Swarming with mug-white calamities
Deep in the trill
The earthlings fill
With silent and cradled fright

Pudge-fat grass and sunken weeds
All sheeted with ice and crumbles
Thick, bristling, temptuous
A frozen hell-sea of dried faces
Whispers fly in the echoing wind
Songs of slip and weasels
Mirth seed of flippant ties
Souls know naught of this cringe

Whistling corridors
Fish of contrite
Sugar taunts the aesthete
Away from the bright
Maiden flowers, now of grim
Two days it’s been
Since one’s last begin

“I am not home”
Tweets a small fiddle
Now wanderings bear the piddle
Paddle on all night
In Sticks of contemplated might
I carry thee to a source
Of dusty energy for your force
Guest now delighted in the form of craze
You still fight in the maze
“Marrying the trip,” you tell me
“Someday I’ll rip for the fee”
I cannot combust thy tarp
And you still wish me to play a harp
There’s so much left
And so much gone
Yet, you still wonder on
There’s no longer a draft
To cuddle in fro to
No need for that silly horseshoe

Burden, burden, break
Still in May I quake
Brush of the sheets
Too soft for the meat
Of blood, I am not scared
My mind is now tear’d
Frit cannot be woven
Iron cannot be shattered
Teats of mulcted tribunes
As if anything mattered

Yearning for escape
Escalonias emitted entreaties
For ladders to the universe
But my atmosphere
Was a bit more self-suiting
I wait, look for bait
Suddenly I pounce
Leaping up non-steps
Creating mesh entrails again
Fall
Curdle
Tremble
“Tongue-tied and twisted
Just an earth-bound misfit
I”





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