{pieces of sideways...}

inside outside doubtside poutside suicide newside knew a side knew a guy through a guy
threw a guy through a guy two and fly sewage night truest lie ernest guy what a guy what a life
doesnt fight doesnt cry what the fuck and thats the night
fall in bed hit your head wake up later now your dead
what the fuck and missed the truck but hit the pole and crushed the skull and fast and quick and lickitey split
and then he split and missed the ticket taking him back home back to rome soon its owned by his intonation's nation
lacent placent placid flacid acid smokes attacks him fights him off but comes off cross and crossed instead of cross
its red
its blue its green its all obscene its retroviral into me and so unclean that i come tween and twixt and twisted to the list of 
things that have yet to be done or undone run and sewed up fun! but what fun is there when the funnest of fun is one whos not among us
and when we run are we just dumbest of the dumb who run for fun but learn to lag behind the flag and short the stop when were on top and place our selves inside the shelves of lifes little lessons who take but are bested and glisten and glow and spark in the snow when we spring on the fall of the summer of it all and the jessups sing and the jessabells ring and the cotton is king but the king will soon fall to the synthetic pathetic imatation of the aclamation of the intuation and the inside facing of the churches casings and inside it all we always fall and curl our heads up in a ball and throw them back into the stars and watch as they run smaller cars and when we reach the outer limits the inner hem it starts to rip it runs a legging down the skirt and starts to hurt the putrid wort and turtles hurdles jump themselves and land ontop of mushroom dwellings smoke themselves and float of yelping puppies melting sewer smelling washing plates in river beds and rushing off to smell the dead  but bundling themselves up instead on top of smokey old and dead and greiving for the mountain tops we oft forget what we have lost and when we are so high above we look down on what we have loved but what we love is not imported its exported more for equal shares upon 10 dollars and dollars more then we afford but when we run our dollars out we cant but shout
help me im out
but we still import even when we are broke we grab hold of the spokes and seize the goat and travel out of our inner bounds and we make the rounds lost our founds and we find our funds and track the ones who once said they would pounce upon and the bounce we make and the council fakes is lost for words of working herds of goats who lost the way of spoke and started to float and spin in boats and toke a toke of token rope and built a ladder for hoisting bladders and inside the ladder they laid an egg to crash upon down on the head of the next man to take the ladder for a spin like a web of a spider and could create a wider hole in the ground without a pound of heat in his head for hed too be dead sooner then he planed and sooner then he could create the well for the wellbeing of his stool but the stool stood still and still it stands today when the prisoner of higher ground comes out to play.

EIGHT JULY TWO-THOUSAND-EIGHT