The True Image

As my eyes were rolling down those leather sleeves,
I heard the tons of years crushing down on
My adulthood of boyish nearsightedness.
The world has twisted like an ocean swallowed by a wasp caught in a twister.
My sink of thoughts just overflew in awe of affection
But also was done with keeping water`s composure.
A watermark of a dambuster.
A cunningly erotic Waterloo.
And a very liquid spelling of watervah.


The gospel of intended reality.
The horror of digesting duality.
The manlessness of losing divinity.
How true is the image you see after you wipe Jesus`s face
If you ain’t sure your towel was really ever white at all?
Wet it was for sure. And very dirty.


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