poem || Edward Nichols

Brash are the Gallygarths

The neurotic frequency machines golden turned the railway of interdimensional inversion catches the time pieces at a subconscious dose of liberal golden crystals,their firmament a fiery purple catching a ride on the truancy expression by calculating the income as outgoing revisions. The subconsious constipation was giving an archetypical laxative.The world is not a whole,but a unified singularity.A positive method of recompence is to never pay it back.Thats what we have on the product ratio demand as a radio emits frequencies.IN other words,a glithysheen blemish on otherwise  pertinent inflammation.nothing is something  indeed.Ingest the spiraling darknenn ina tone deaf babies ear and thefragmentsof spring,spring  forth ina ninety to nothing subzeroe glacial montage a freeload of reality is as about as close as I want to get to it.SO jargon the  hiabiscus withand swear like a sailor. Brash are the gallygarths who raid the pantries of disbelief.So,The
 torque of the thesuspended space-warp released their tiny spatial frequensies;drawn to dr.dents orgone box.

Dr. Dent though a black hole, once crossed they were in all eleven demensions simultaneously, co-existing with non-existence.

Seemly I am not what I am, buttressing the loganhythem of injustice as the briar patch of relief. Socialogical manifestations alot their circuits down a path of neuron, nwurons of the consciousness probe the entity as a for-it-self, not for the subject as other, but as the for-it-self in the others domnion. I the other, the other eye, seeing me proceiving it. The golden swings law on a high dive.

The interested parties transcended the triple view and reinverted the soul to capitulation inversion.