I wander around here with a lifeless aim and a contemptible flair for this utter disdain. Here I go, complain, let it drift outward, rearrange. Now it's pieces of a timeless capillary supplanted upwards and outwards on and on...
Streambeds. Wayfarers to the desperation terrors of the rock side testimonies with no alimony phony to the mighty tide ride my Delorian travel time bide territory to another allegory fine dine rhyme and come up to the metallurgy cursory mercenary bank left of the hang do another change til you've rearranged your ways today we change oft the good of our lesser should. Bury my name in the same damn vein of this cordial rearrangement of the whole damn game. You're so tame, but who's to blame?
Break it, take it, fake it, karma comes undone once you've won seemingly awkward of the talk while the tree tops listen to the bum position of our intuitions. It's a call to arms of these free form tongues that just up and leave me away and above all the timely trepidation of pious tried riots but they still don't like us so we try on creating what those before us had forsaken for a free form verse might just end you in hearse. Break it first.
Free the mind as it's in a bind, try it for a second time, realize what's truly missing is the triage from the third. Events inviting those they knew from oh so long ago.