The Trip Report

   Holy drenched during drought of damnation

        Ballooning and fulfilled by queer empty space

               Crux is they have crucified a self fucking ego

                        Nonspecific and not withstanding

                              Local temperature on local time

                                Ties bound on a copper bottom

                                   I’m stretching

                                  I’m stretched

                                 You judge me

                                And like a flame war warning

                               With a firecracker end

                            The jury consolidates conflicts

                           And finds absolution

                       By letting me off

                   Kicking back doing nothing

              Absence is the room of possibility

          Silence the sound of many tongues

     Mouthing off through a recurring meme

Of a tiny tale wagging a shaggy dog story

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