We live in foolish times, with unbelievable creatures totally full of shit.
Doctor Doo Little’s Pushme-Pullyou
Are we awe living
Doctored doo little’s life
In hour pet beasties
Trapped in 100% proof
And believing is seeing
Stuck with sharp mines
And pierced hearts
Awe most as weird
As a pushme-pullyou
That tug of war
A kind of wore hoarse
Knot knowing
Forward or backward
Weather strange a traction
Or compelling awe
Possessed by our own holed
Over others
And how and when
To under stand
The deference
In the thick it
Orthodox
Heterodox
A paradox
Beyond me
Hit it in efface
Or aloud enchant
With the perfect words
Leaving spellbound
Or sum other authoritative doo
Just
Perhaps
Silent action
Speaking volumes
Embody language
In the mettle
Of comical forces
Mine, mine, mine
Verses mime, mime, mime
It’s a small whirled after awe
Can wee survive our selves
Make it
Happens
As we peer
In finitude
Dude
And still
It’s never
Enough
How doo we
Surrender
Steeped in that inclination
To hill and back
That Sisyphean pinch
Too relieve us
Of awe assholes
And live side by side
In accompany of mythical creatures
Dam well full of shit
And miss red
Anger
Over what is
Peace
And over what is
Hole
