Spiritual Mafia

word string you make my heart sing you make everything groovy but I wanna know for sure the slaver's noose is no sower of truth and its cohort of prediction open eyed jumping to no order because invention is the outcome of battle a confusion of holy unknowns sacrificing yesterday every waking moment broadcast reluctantly on the Shaman Network a necromancer's narrative no one's necessity when posting lookouts for treachery and treachery and treachery a psychic dictatorship of the personal knowing what is knowing a hope magnet touted for all those shadowy universals and their bouncing billiard balls cue sticked into consciousness by sinuous Stilletta Strandhanger you want a happy finish sailor my Sarmatian wet works trainer a fist full of arrows for her pillow no victory without danger she gasps as the bed collapses underneath us scattering the manor mastiffs across a wide and blazing horizon Hungarian violins all glissando in the firelight apparently the natural order isn't latest office memo lit up in neon across my three pounds of fatty gray matter dynamited off the tracks by her sappers knocked all my conclusions akilter left me staring into an obsidian mirror with weaponized wonderment should have nixxed me off the map when you had the chance Still what stayed your bowstring Still who is really in charge up there where all our ideas dance and glint like sabers awaiting the melee hand one of them mine